


Nothing to make a song about but kings

by iwillpassthis



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Atlantis, Do I? We shall never know, Gen, King!Percy, Merpeople, My boy truly has no idea what he's doing, Powerful Percy Jackson, Undersea politcs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 56,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24807616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillpassthis/pseuds/iwillpassthis
Summary: Percy knelt before Atlantis’ throne, feeling the ancient power of the sea run through his veins in an uncoordinated dance.You are the sea now, it whispered,and the sea is you.A crown of gold and emeralds was placed on his head.Long live the king. Long live the king..It’s a fortune that Poseidon has a mortal son, because when an ancient curse hits his kingdom and all the sea gods disappear… well, someone must rule.
Relationships: Amphitrite & Percy Jackson, Percy Jackson & Poseidon
Comments: 192
Kudos: 503





	1. Year I - Part I

**Author's Note:**

> So... here I am again. I have a LOT of aestethics for this story... and very little in terms of plot, so we'll see where this will go! In the meantime, I really didin't manage to keep it inside my head so... Enjoy!

Kronos knelt in what had once been his throne room, his three sons around him, weapons in hand and the same anger in their golden eyes.

“This will be the last time you will act together,” he rasped, panting, and when he saw his youngest grip his scythe harder, he allowed himself a laugh.

The chains around him tightened.

He laughed harder.

“We are brothers,” his eldest said, “we shall care for each other.”

“And we will rule fairly,” the youngest proclaimed, “and our kingdoms will be great and we will be worshipped a thousand times more than you ever were.”

Kronos laughed again, and the chains glowed faintly.

“Your kingdom will refuse you one day,” he answered, then shifted his body to face his middle child, another curse on his lips. “You and your line will disappear when you will be more needed and you-” he started, looking at his eldest ready to utter some other horrible words, when Zeus swung the scythe at his throat.

His head fell on the rich marbles, and then there was silence.

His three sons drew lots and shared the Earth and what is above and what is below.

“We shall rule in peace,” they declared, and went their own ways, not a worry in their mind.

Young and arrogant gods never care about curses, nor predictions.

It’s not on them that will fall the price after all.

.

Percy sat in his bed in Cabin Three, lazily skimming through the pages of one of his extremely expensive college books. He had no idea how on earth he had been convinced to attend, after all the troubles that school had given him in the past, and it was even more of a miracle the fact that he had actually been _accepted_ into one, considering his past record.  
Hadn’t Athena hated him so much he would have said she had had something to do with it, but even Annabeth believed the theory to be unrealistic. “I’m sure they just liked your essay,” she had told him when he had first brought it up, incredulous.

And now here he was, ruining his own summer learning about the fundamentals of biology. Or trying to, at least: he had been stuck on the same page for _hours,_ since his mind kept wandering and he couldn’t focus to save his life. He was about to just launch the book against the wall and move somewhere far, far away before calling Annabeth and telling her he wouldn’t attend college, when there was a loud _pop_ in the living room.

Just grateful for an interruption, Percy put away the book and looked for his slippers for a half a minute before giving up and just walking barefoot towards the sound. At least if the cold marble made him get a cold he could avoid studying for a couple of days.

When he reached the room, he was surprised to find a tall mermaid sitting on his sofa, her posture rigid, and her muscled arms tensed as if she was expecting to be attacked at any moment.

“Hello?” Percy said, and the mermaid jumped up, and dropped to a low bow, before facing him again, her expression still tense.

Percy could not avoid staring at her with a confused expression on his face. He was quite certain that mermaids and mermen were his father’s subjects, but the ones he had met had never bowed to him before, being a demigod and all of that.

“My Lord,” the mermaid started, “forgive my intrusion, but we could not risk the message get intercepted and we needed to act quickly.”

She looked at him expectantly, but Percy had still no idea what she was talking about.

“Ehm, what- what is going on?” 

The mermaid squared her shoulders, her green skin glittering in the soft light. “Poseidon and his godly children have disappeared without a trace. We believe that…” she stopped.

“That?” he pressed, but she ignored him.

“Queen Amphitrite of course wished to lead the search parties, but she will remain at the palace long enough to instruct you.”

“Instruct me?” Percy repeated, feeling like he was missing the most important part of the puzzle. Maybe trying to study biology had truly given the fatal blow to his brain.

“Your brothers and sisters have disappeared. Someone must rule, and you’re next in the line of succession, the only of Poseidon’s children to still roam the Earth. You shall come with me to Atlantis,“ she then continued when Percy only kept staring at her, “it’s not safe here.”

Percy blinked once, then again, hoping this was just a terrible dream he could wake up from. But had it been a dream probably his feet wouldn’t be so cold.

“I can’t be a _king_ ,” he found himself saying, “I know nothing about ruling. And I’ve been to Atlantis like, twice. Don’t you have better people?”

The mermaid frowned. “The next in succession after you is the Duke of the Southern Sea. And I assure you your mortal world would not appreciate having him in charge of the oceans.”

Then she strode forward, and gripped his arm tightly. “I am sorry my Lord but we must reach Atlantis quickly. Lady Amphitrite will explain later.”

Percy only had a moment to worry about his stepmother, when in another loud _pop_ they were gone.

.

Atlantis was just as beautiful and crowded as he remembered.

They had appeared on a busy corner just outside the city gates, where three other equally buff mermen were awaiting them. They did not bow, but inclined their heads in salute, and handed him a dark and heavy cloak.

“Put this on,” one of them said, “there is unrest in the city and we must reach the Palace before you get recognized.”

“The Duke’s supporters have arrived already?” the mermaid who had accompanied him asked, and swore colorfully when one of the others nodded.

“Charis,” the taller man reprimanded, eyes darting towards Percy while he fumbled with the cloak and covered himself fully with it.

“Apologies, my Lord,” she said then, and Percy had no idea what she was talking about so he just nodded. “Thank you for taking me here safely,” he answered, feeling bad about not having asked for her name before.

“Enough pleasantries,” the shorter of the mermen exclaimed, “I’m sorry my Lord but this is a question of the ultimate delicacy and speed. Kleitos,” he said pointing the guard that had given him the cloak, “will be in front of you, and will open the way towards the palace. Me and Nikon will stay at the sides. Charis will stay behind you. We shall march quickly.”

Everyone nodded and they started swimming through the streets, quickly indeed, and not even the dire situation, which Percy was sure his brain had not even processed yet, could stop him from feeling overwhelmed by the beauty and the life of the lower city. He had always liked it more than the palace, and he tried to enjoy it as much as he could, guessing that for a while he wouldn’t be allowed to leave the castle.

His thoughts darted over Charis’ words about his father, about the kingdom, but he stopped them in their tracks. It really wasn’t the best of times to delve into anguish, so he just would have to wait until he was alone somewhere before cursing every damn being that was apparently having fun in making his life miserable.  
Or maybe Amphitrite would just tell him she had changed her mind and that southern guy was the best option after all.

Kleitos suddenly made an abrupt turn, and Percy almost lost sight of him. He had no idea how he managed to move this quickly amongst the hundreds of sea creatures that filled the streets, many screaming and chanting, some crying. But louder than all of them, louder enough to be heard even in the higher city, were the drums, and the two ichthyocentaurs playing them.

“The King has died!” they shouted, and Percy shuddered. Nikon grabbed him on the arm and forcefully led him forwards.

“Duke Bythus will lead our kingdom to freedom!” they continued, and the crowd cheered.

“Long live King Bythus!” they intoned, and Percy felt coldness in all his bones. What was he doing here? The people didn’t want him as their king, understandably. He didn’t know them, didn't know their customs, their fears. Didn’t know anything about politics.

He heard an explosion just to his left, and when he turned one of the shops slowly collapsed to the ground. The sea people screamed, and then there was the distinct sound of children crying, and in all of that the drums never stop their constant vibrating.

Charis was immediately behind them. “We must bring him out of here quickly,” she said, “no more stops until the Palace.”

“But we _need_ to do something,” Percy interjected, “these people are in danger, we need to-”

“The army will take care of it,” the other guard said. Kleitos was nowhere to be seen. “Forgive my bluntness my Lord, but at the moment you’re the only thing between the Duke and the throne. They’d all murder you in a second, and then _more_ people will die. We are going now. No more stops, no more questions. Clear?”

The protest died on Percy’s lips, and he nodded. They were all risking their lives for him, and as a thank you he was making things even _more_ difficult.

Nikon took what had been Kleitos’ position, and paved the way for the others to follow. They stepped into a smaller, emptier alley, and Percy felt himself relax slightly, now that he was away from all the noise and the people. He could see the faint outline of the Palace at the horizon, and a glimmer of hope blossomed in his chest: he would be safe there, his father would-

Fuck.

If he got to the Palace… he would be king. It would be his job to bring order again, to make the people trust in him and in change to learn how to listen to them and respond appropriately to their requests. He hoped his father had good advisors, because he surely would need all their help.

“Yeah there was one of those royal guards,” they heard a voice mutter, but none of them slowed down. “Don’t worry we got him,” he continued, “no he didn’t contact anyone no- I am sure! I said he didn’t get the time we-”

They turned another corner, and the merman’s discourse was lost in the current. “Was he talking about Kleitos?” Percy asked, remembering only later the no question thing.  
No one answered him, but Nikon started swimming even quicker, if that was even possible, and Percy found himself struggling to keep the pace.

The closer they got to the palace, the more the crowd thinned, and the shops were richer, the buildings decorated, the gardens well manicured, until they reached the feet of Palace’s Hill. All the tunnels that usually allowed the people to move quicker in and out of the palace were closed, and guarded by heavily armored soldiers.

The stairs that led to the main entrance, usually full of mermaids and nereids and delegates from all around the world, were empty, their white marble creating an anxious atmosphere of unnatural stillness. The Palace didn’t look how he remembered it at all.

Percy shivered slightly, and pulled his cloak closer to him, a sudden desire to just slip into his bed covers and pretend nothing of this was happening suddenly overwhelmed him, and he felt young, immensely young and scared and-

He swallowed harshly, and moved towards the stairs. Guards in full armor immediately flanked him, and the ones who had brought him there unsheathed their weapons. But Percy only slightly lowered his cloak, showing his face to the closest guard, whose surprise was written in every line of her face.

“Let him pass!” she barked to the others, who all lowered their weapons, even if Charis seemed very reluctant. Which was… weird. Weren’t all the guards on the same side?  
“Welcome home Prince,” said the guard, “and good luck.”

Luck. Percy was good with luck.

He climbed the first step, and then noticed that none of the guards were following him. “Aren’t you coming?” he asked, looking at Nikon, who shook his head.

“This is something you must do by yourself, my Lord. There are trials to become King of Atlantis. This is the first one: the Palace must accept you as its ruler.”

“What if it doesn’t?” Percy asked, eyeing the long stairs with renewed nervousness. It truly looked ominous, as all places usually full of people do when they’re empty. 

“It will,” Charis answered after a short silence, “you are the King son by blood, even if you’re a demigod…” she paused, “it will accept you, I’m sure.” But she didn’t sound very sure, not at all.

Oh well. Not like he had a choice.

He climbed another step, then another. He felt watched, but didn't dare to tell them off. Probably if the President of the United States had had to do something similar to be elected he would have watched too.

Not like he knew if the two positions were even remotely similar though.

Every step he took, his feet felt heavier and heavier, and the stairs seemed to continue infinitely. But Percy had climbed them before, so he _knew_ they ended in front of the Palace. He just needed to resist, and keep going.

After a few more steps his legs were trembling, and he was panting. He took off his heavy cloak, and for a while he managed to get his breathing under control. He didn't dare to stop: the guards had said it was a trial after all, so it was possible that he had a timing to respect. And who knew what would happen if he were to fail? Probably he'd die, and then there would be war for Bythus’ place as the rightful heir.

He gritted his teeth, and lamented the lack of a handrail, which he could have used to sustain the majority of his body weight. To distract himself from the burning ache in his legs and chest he looked up, towards the open sea. The Palace was very deep down the ocean, and none of the Sun's light managed to infiltrate there, but the artificial illumination was fantastic: just translucid, pearly white orbs shining with light above the Hill and a sea of smaller ones all through the city. 

It was truly beautiful.

His feet seemed lighter for a while, but then it was like moving cement all over again. If only…

He stilled for a second, regaining his breath, before trying to force the water to push him from behind, to aide him in his climbing, but it was to no avail, and Percy felt desperation settle into his bones.

It was the first time that water hadn't answered to him. Had he lost his powers? No, he was still breathing, he realized much later than he should have. It must have been part of the trial. Not like he hadn't fatigued enough anyway.

He kept climbing, and slowly the Palace seemed to be getting closer. But it was still not close enough, and he felt like there was not enough air, that his lungs were collapsing and he would drown and-

They weren't his lungs that collapsed at the end, but his legs. He fell to his knees, hitting the hard marble with a cry of pain. His whole body was trembling, and he still couldn't breathe enough, but he _had_ to go on. He started crawling, but after a few steps his arms were aching as much as his legs, and frequent, violent spasm moved his hands against his will.

He felt hopeless. The castle was still too far away. He wouldn't make it.

Sweat dropped into his eyes, and Percy banished it without a thought. Then he stopped, his overtired brain trying to form a coherent thought. He could control his sweat. He _could_ control his sweat. Almost feeling like laughing aloud, but knowing he didn't have the necessary energy for it, Percy concentrated on all the little molecules of water that were _his_ , and created a wide enough circular shape.

Then he climbed on it, his muscles trembling all the way, and sat down, fearing for a second that it wouldn't work, and that he would fall at the start of the stairs again. If that were to happen he truly hoped he would die during the fall, because if he didn't the guards would probably make him try the climbing thing again and he was _sure_ his heart couldn't take it.

But the circle resisted, and Percy felt a little bit like Aladdin on the flying carpet. He would have to thank his little sister for the inspiration when he came back. _If_ he came back. No, better not to think of that right now, now that he might have found a solution to the stairs problem.

He willed his makeshift flying carpet to fly towards the castle, and for an horrible, eternal second the water just trembled, and almost felt like it was evaporating below him, but then it shoot up towards the entrance of the Palace, hovering just above the steps and Percy laughed, a visceral sound that hurt his distressed muscles.

He put on his cape again, trying to keep his balance and almost failing. The temperature had dropped significantly, which was quite unexpected: he was climbing _up_ , so the closer he went to the surface, the more the temperature should increase, shouldn't it? But apparently the inverse was happening, because the most closer to the Palace he got, the more he felt cold, and exposed, and vulnerable.

He didn’t like it at all.

Percy looked at the Palace getting closer and closer, and he felt almost giddy. He had made it! And even if these weren’t really the circumstances he would have ever imagined he would return to the Palace for, a part of him was just excited to be there, between his father’s people, immersed in the customs of a part of his identity which he had never known much about, which had been negated from his since the start.

When he arrived in front of the Palace, there was no one. He stepped down from his flying circle, and dispersed the water into the open sea with a hand. As soon as his feet touched the marble floor, the bells of the high towers chimed twice, then paused, then chimed again three times. Soldiers came out from the sides of the castle, their spears and tridents around them, but they weren’t going to attack: not yet at least. A horn was played once, its sound long and solemn, and quicker than Percy ever thought possible, the soldiers moved to the sides, leaving a wide path from which a woman advanced towards him.

She stopped a dozen of feet away from him, and Percy took off the hood of his cape, while looking at the soldiers. As soon as his face was visible, there there was what he was looking for: a slight cadence on the shoulders, their grip on the weapons loosening a little. They were relieved to see it was him and not Bythus then. That was good.

He then shifted his attention to Amphitrite, who had been staring at him intently, not saying a word. Maybe he was supposed to say something first?

“I am here to claim the throne of Atlantis,” he said letting his gaze wander between all the soldiers as they had taught him to do in New Rome when he had to speak in the Senatus. “The throne who is mine by birth, as the only-” he swallowed harshly. He didn’t want to say it. He didn’t. But he knew he couldn’t show weakness now, so he continued.

“-as the only surviving son of the late King.” 

Amphitrite shuddered slightly at his words, and Percy was aware that he had only noticed because all of his attention was focused on her, and that none of the soldiers had been able to see anything even if they too were looking at Amphitrite, probably in search of directions.

“Welcome, Prince Perseus of the Seven Seas,” she stated, every word seemingly hurting her own core, every syllable dragged away from her lips with a considerable effort to obtain a neutral tone of voice.

Percy didn’t even have the time to be too surprised by the title though, because then something even _weirder_ happened.

Amphitrite knelt to the ground, and so did all of the soldiers, leaving Percy the only one standing on the cold ocean’s floor.

He had never felt this alone.


	2. Year I, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit more descriptive than I would like, but we know almost nothing of Atlantis from canon, so I had to set the scene. Let me know if you find it too heavy!

Amphitrite stared at him for a good five minutes after all the soldiers had returned to their training. Percy had never felt this uncomfortable, with her piercing gaze all over him like she was trying to read his soul. Or his mind. Oh man he really hoped she couldn’t read his mind because he had been thinking only of how much he wanted to go to bed and never wake up, and that probably wasn’t proper for a king.

Fidgeting probably wasn’t good either, but Percy had never liked being the center of attention, and he wouldn’t start now. So he kept playing with the ring he always kept on his right index, the one Annabeth had gifted him for his last birthday, feeling self conscious about his bare feet, his shabby clothes that looked even worse when compared to the elegant dress of the Queen of the Seas. Or former Queen? He knew nothing about proper titles but…

He chuckled under his breath. Surely she wouldn’t want to be called Queen _Mother_.

“Do you find this situation ludicrous?” she asked then, raising an eyebrow in a perfect arch, her expression creepingly similar to Chiron’s one when he caught him in an obvious lie.

Percy shook his head. “Sorry my lady,” he started, hoping it was appropriate, “the guards who brought me here said you would explain what happened and-”

“Not here,” she hissed, stepping forward. “Come with me.”

There was just the same amount of contempt in her voice as before, so probably whatever she had been staring at him for hadn’t raised her opinion of him. It seemed like it hadn’t lowered it either, so Percy took it as a win, and started following her inside the Palace.

“Wow,” he muttered as soon as he stepped into the Great Hall. It was majestic: the floor was decorated with mosaics of sea animals and plants, seashells and creatures he had never seen before. Corals made up a great part of the walls, and even if they seemed delicate Percy knew that they would be almost impossible to pass through.

He then raised his eyes to the ceiling, and had to stop walking. It seemed like it was made up of golden sea foam, moving and changing with the currents, so bright that it was almost blinding, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of it. Not even Olympus had been this beautiful, this entrancing. It felt like being in one of these throne rooms from fables and fairytales, where everything was perfect and mesmerizing.

“Perseus,” the goddess called, already at the end of the room, and he swam faster to reach her, snapping himself out of his awe. Not a tourist right now, he would have to remember that.

She led him through wide rooms and halls, the servants and the soldiers bowing when they passed. To him or Amphitrite, he had no idea. Maybe to both. She stopped in front of stairs made of nacre, reflecting a thousand shades of light and just as finely made as all the rest of the rooms he had seen. But they were still stairs, and Percy could feel his muscle tremble just at the thought of it. He was still exhausted from before, only kept up by adrenaline and surprise and a billion of different fears he couldn’t shove in the back of his mind fast enough.

“Your quarters will be on the second floor,” she started, “that part of the Palace was damaged during the war, but I’m sure you’ll manage. You are used to more…” she paused, her eyes travelling from his bare feet to his bed hair, “...insalubrious surroundings after all.”

She turned and started climbing the stairs before Percy could even find the insult in her words, and he wondered for the thousandth time how on earth he was going to be able to keep up with her. Why couldn’t _she_ rule? She was obviously the best suited for the role.

After having passed the first floor, with enormous fatigue in Percy’s case, the fact that the Palace had been partly destroyed became evident. The nacre of the stairs stopped abruptly, and the steps continued in what seemed to be a temporary stone structure, grey and simple. The walls too were made of stone, undecorated but still imposing, and when they reached the second floor he could see scaffolds high as the ceiling, and a window still in the first stages of construction.

“Why is no one working here?” he asked then. He had thought the Palace would be fixed up in a hurry, employing as many as was possible.

“They were,” Amphitrite answered, “before the disorders began.” 

She turned a corner and opened the first door with a green, small and frail looking key, then stepped inside motioning at him to follow her.

The rooms were inelaborate, light-bluish walls and random pieces of furniture clustered around the room as if the one who had placed them didn’t really know what their function was. The parlor they had stepped in had a dark green, comfortable-looking sofa, but it was placed towards the wall, the library had no books in it and was placed in the middle of the room, the fireplace was empty.

Percy could not help but be glad for it though. It was still bigger than he was used to, and he was sure he wouldn’t have felt at ease in a room draped in gold and jewels, or too richly decorated. His room in his house could not be defined rustic or frugal, but he still was used to simple things and cheap furniture, so finding them here could give him a semblance of normalcy in a situation that wasn’t normal at all.

“Thank you,” he said looking at the sea goddess, “this is perfect.”

If she had expected any other reaction from him, she didn’t show it. “That door over there,” she answered instead pointing on her left, “leads to the bedroom. It has a bathroom attached.”

Percy nodded and made to walk over there, but Amphitrite stopped him. “I’ll show you the office where you’ll work _until_ my husband returns. We’re already behind on the paperwork.”

Percy swallowed audibly. Oh, how much he hated paperwork. Even at Camp, he had always postponed it to the last moment, or had bribed others to do it for him. His hatred for it was so well-known that in the last months Chiron had taken pity of him and had even stopped asking for him read long and boring documents. It appeared he wouldn’t be so lucky here.

Poseidon’s office was, apparently, on the third floor, where he guessed his and Amphitrite rooms were too. Unlike the second floor, the third one seemed to have never sustained any damage, even if the signs of a recent restoration were clear to the eye that knew what to look for.

The goddess stopped in front of a wooden and heavily decorated door, the key gripped tightly in her hand. Percy realized, suddenly, how difficult all of this must be for her.   
She had ruled for thousand of years with her husband, had bore children and prepared them for a throne it was unlikely they would ever inherit, and in the bat of an eye all of them had just… disappeared, and she had found herself in the middle of a succession crisis, the bastard son of her husband her only hope to maintain control on the kingdom.

He did not blame her her contempt.

She finally turned the key, and the heavy door opened with an ominous sound. But the office was amazing: scrolls and books filled the libraries that were on every wall of the large room, starting at the floor and ending at the ceiling and containing what were probably decades of records and reports about the kingdom. Records he would probably have to study.

The desk was made of a wood so dark it seemed almost black, and the chair looked austere but also comfortable, padded in green and gold.

“Sit,” she commanded, and when he had she continued, seemingly unfazed, “I assume you have questions. You may ask them now. If it’s something you need to know, I’ll answer them, if it’s not, don’t even bother formulating them.”

Not a bad offer. “Hm,” he started, looking for the right words, then decided to be as broad as he could, “what happened exactly?” he asked.

Amphitrite seemed unimpressed with his question, and sighed. “When the titan Cronus was disposed of the first time, he cursed Poseidon and his line to disappear when the kingdom needed them the most. Apparently, this is the moment.”

_Lucky me_ , he thought. Of course it had to be during his lifetime. “Need most? What do you mean _need_ most? I know nothing about ruling, I’ll make a disaster.”

The goddess waved her hand impatiently, and another chair appeared in front of where Percy sat. “Perseus,” she started, tone serious and eyes deadly, “I approve of this circumstances even _less_ than you do. But right now it stands as follows: you will finish the trials, you will succeed in them and you will become King. Then, tutors will teach you the history of our kingdom, our customs and traditions, they will teach you how to dance, how to stand, how to talk.”

“While you learn all of this, I will also teach you how to attend to the daily needs of a kingdom. There are papers to read, study and sign, delegates from all the seven seas will want to meet the new king. You will need to hold court, and listen to the problems of the people.”

She paused, and Percy looked at her horrified. He would never manage to do all of these things. Never. _Never_.

“I don’t-” he tried to protest, but Amphitrite stopped him. “None of us has a choice in this, Perseus. The Fates have decided this is what ought to happen, and so shall be it. As soon as you’ve become familiar with the basis, I will leave and try to find what happened to my family. It will be a few years at most, I am certain.”

“A few _years?_ ” Percy shrieked, horror clear in his voice, “I can’t stay down here for years!”

Amphitrite stared at him for a couple of seconds, and when she spoke her voice was a little softer than before.

“The sea made you, Perseus. Do not forsake it in his time of need.”

Slowly, he nodded. It wasn’t the right time to argue. “Can I send letters from here?” he asked. There was no sun to start an Iris-message, but his friends at Camp, _Annabeth_ , needed to know that he was fine. Well, uninjured more than fine, but the gist was that.

“I’ll leave you to it. Familiarize yourself with the room. Servants will come to lead you to dinner, where I shall help you plan the following days.”

She didn’t wait for his answer to that, and with the swish of a dress, she was gone.

.

_Chiron_ , he wrote at first, but then crossed it out. He would be the one to tell her, and if she left him for good he wouldn’t blame her.

_Dear Annabeth_ , he started.

_I am in Atlantis. Things are complicated - Father and my siblings have disappeared and I am apparently next in line to the throne. There is some kind of succession crisis, so I can’t leave the Palace and we can’t meet._

He stopped. He didn’t want to alarm her but… he needed to tell someone, he needed to tell her how he felt or he would go crazy.

_I am scared I’ll ruin everything here. I know nothing about this place. I am so sorry Annabeth, so sorry to leave you again. Please inform my mother and Chiron of my whereabouts, but I don’t think it would be safe for it to be public knowledge yet._

_Love you,_

_Percy_

He reread it once, then again. He was too tired to do any better right now, so it would have to do. He fumbled around in a couple of drawers, then finally found a couple of drachmas, folded the parchment and wrote Annabeth’s name on it.

“To Annabeth Chase,” he said just to be sure, placing the drachmas over his unept words.

The letter disappeared instantly. 

.

The following morning, Amphitrite led him to the Great Hall again, and stopped in front of his father’s throne. 

“Look at it,” she said, and Percy did. He walked from one side to another, not daring to touch but letting his gaze settle on the small imperfections and the dents that declared it had been _used_ for a very long period of time. He stared at the decorations, but soon found out they weren’t decorations at all: there were images and words carved on the marble yes, but they didn’t follow a pattern, nor they formed a greater symbol.

They seemed random. Even the dents, now that he analyzed them better, were in places where usually dents aren’t: in the middle of the back, low close to the ground and- why would a god like Poseidon have a ruined throne?

“What are this…” he gestured to the throne, “there are things carved on it. Do they mean something?”

The goddess didn’t smile, but her expression was little less strict than before. “We call them Emblems,” she started, staring at the throne with a sorrowful expression, “everytime something meaningful or significant happens, one of this… impressions appear. So that we may remember, and plead to do better in the future.”

“They usually come one at a time,” she continued, “but… when my husband and my children disappeared, all of the dents appeared. Every dent, is a god or a goddess we have lost.”

Percy shuddered, the weight of the situation finally starting to sink in. “Is making an emblem appear here my second trial?”, he asked, not knowing for which answer to hope for.

But the goddess shook her head, her dark curls moving in the still water. “I hope for the sake of the kingdom that no new emblem will appear in the next century. Their magic is complicated, but they only seem to follow… negative ordeals.”

He nodded, and looked at the small images more carefully. They were beautiful, and they were numerous. Of course, bad things were bound to happen when you ruled for over four thousand years, but the immensity of it was almost inconceivable. How could he, a nineteen year old demigod, be expected to fill in his father’s shoes?

“What is my next trial then?” he asked, trying to distract himself with something tangible.

Amphitrite sighed. “The army” she said, then elaborated, “You must acquire the confidence of the army, and the soldiers and the generals must accept you as their leader.”

“What has it to do with this throne then?”

The goddess locked her eyes with his, and a sudden feeling of dread and desperation filled him from head to toe: it felt like drowning, like he was suffocating in his own body and then-

It stopped.

“You insolent _child_ ,” she hissed, her anger barely controlled, “you stand before the throne of the Seven Seas and you doubt it pertains the kingdom?”

“I- I just…” 

“I should not be astounded by this,” she then seemed to say to herself, her tone the ugliest shade of derogatory Percy had ever heard, “you are but a savage, come to take a kingdom you know nothing about and-”

“I didn’t even _want_ to come here!” he screamed, his temper flailing up. How dare she? How dare she accuse him of even remotely wanting to be in this horrendous situation?

“And it’s not like I ever had the opportunity to learn something about this place, had I? It’s not like I could just come here without you-” he stopped, suddenly aware of his situation, of him being in the throne room of Atlantis, _screaming_ at the former queen, the goddess who could kill him without uttering a word.

“Without me doing what?” she pressed, unwavering, “Are you really as arrogant as to believe I would find your presence, here in the heart of my home, elating?”

She wasn’t yelling, but it was almost worse. They were alone in the room, and the room was too big, and the air wasn’t enough, and he just wanted to get back in his bed in Cabin Three and pretend none of this had ever happened.

He took a big breath, and tried to steady himself. Amphitrite was tense, her body ready to settle into an offensive stance, her gaze piercing. But she also looked tired, her dark skin not fully covering the purple bags under her eyes, her nails clipped short and her hair wilder than he had ever seen her wear when she was with his father.

He suddenly didn’t want to fight anymore.

“Look,” he started, trying to sound sensible, “I already admitted I know nothing of this place, but I’m willing to learn, for you and for father. But-” he looked at her, overwhelmingly tired and pressed on, “I need your help, and I need you to understand that- that I’m going to make mistakes. And say the wrong thing and…” he gestured to the throne, at loss for words, but the goddess seemed to understand anyway.

After a long pause, the internal struggle of the goddess seemed to have come to an end.

“Three is an important number even under the ocean,” she started, voice rough, but her body relaxed once again, “the first trial was to be accepted by the Palace. The second one is to obtain the trust of the army. The third one will be to be recognized as King by this throne, and for that to happen you must be familiar with it, with his history and the one of our kingdom.”

“I showed this to you now, so that you may start to familiarize yourself with it while you plan how to successfully conclude the second trial. I can't help you with them, but I can tell you this,” she paused, and stared intently at him, “a King is nothing without a kingdom.”

Percy nodded, and shifted his gaze to stare at the throne once again. He needed to start studying the records, and he needed to meet the tutors that would teach him all he needed to know to at least _start_ trying to be a King. And he needed the army, and soon, because Bythus’ supporters were already in Atlantis, and he would probably try to wage war before Percy could settle himself in his new position. What would the soldiers do if he didn’t manage to win their trust? Would they join the Duke? 

He wanted to express his concerns to Amphitrite, but when he turned towards the spot she had been in before, she was already gone.

.

Slowly, he returned to his father’s study, plucked a couple of thick books about the foundation of the kingdom, and brought them with him in his room.

It was time to study, no matter how tired his body felt, no matter how heavy his heart seemed to have become. The sooner he mastered the basis in fact, the sooner Amphitrite would be able to go looking for answers, for a solution, and the sooner he would be able to return back home.

Because he would _not_ spend years down under the sea, away from his family.

He wouldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and see you in two weeks!


	3. Year I, Part III

His first weeks in Atlantis were horrendous. In the morning, he had history and dance lessons, followed by a meagre hour long pause to then start again with lessons on accounting, economics, diplomacy and, worse of all, etiquette.

The time he didn’t spend with his tutors, he spent training with the soldiers to come to know them and their way of fighting, but mostly what it was that they valued most, so that he could adapt his speech for the second trial. Amphitrite was getting impatient, and the disorders in the city were worsening, Bythus’ supporters claiming he was only a few days from Atlantis at most. He needed the fealty of the army, and quickly, so that he could also be given personal guards: probably the ones who had brought him to the feet of Palace Hill minus Kleitos, who had been confirmed as ‘missing’.

He wasn’t looking forward to it at all, but he understood it was necessary, even if only to calm down Amphitrite and reassure her he wasn’t going to get murdered anytime soon.

In the glorious hours when he didn't have training and he didn’t have lessons, he took care of all the paperwork that didn’t need a king’s signature: mostly small issues, about inheritances or the division of land and small finance aides to the ones living in zones where the pollution had become stronger. It wasn’t relaxing by any means, but Percy found himself enjoying most of it: it was a way to come to know the most domestic aspects of the kingdom and to be able to learn how to take decisions knowing that even the wrong one wouldn’t bring too much harm to the people. His father’s advisors had been taking care of the biggest issues apparently, but Percy still hadn’t met them.

“They can’t help you until you become King,” Amphitrite had explained, “you must succeed by yourself, or you won’t succeed at all.”

Which made sense but still, would have been nice to have a little help.

On the sixth day of this massacrating schedule, Percy was already exhausted. Annabeth still hadn’t replied to him and his thought alternating between being sure that she now hated him for leaving again or just that mail coming from the outer world couldn’t reach Atlantis. He would wait a couple of days, he decided, and then he would wrote to Chiron and ask him explicitly to answer back: at least in a way or another, he would know.

.

“You know,” Percy started, taking a break from revising documents with Amphitrite, “in the mortal world we have a thing called _coffee_ that we drink when we are tired but still need to work. Do you have something similar here?” he asked.

The goddess stared at him, raising one of her perfect eyebrows in the expression Percy had started to categorize as ‘are you being an idiot on purpose?’

“No,” she answered, turning the page of the report she had been skimming, “Atlantis’ paperwork is usually handled by immortal gods who don’t really _need_ sleep, and it’s been thousand of years since we’ve had a prince that needed to be educated on so many basic subjects.”

Percy sighed, and slumped further back into his chair. The goddess made a funny expression with her face, like she was trying to stop herself from smiling, but of course that _couldn’t_ have been possible, so Percy must have been more tired than he thought and actually hallucinating things.

“However,” she continued, this time not taking her eyes off the report, “considering you currently are the heir to the throne and will soon be the king- if you so desire this _coffee_ you talk about, you only have to ask one of the servants. The kitchen will procure it and serve it to you whenever you ask them to.”

Percy paused, and looked to the goddess as to see if she was joking. “Even if it’s not from the sea?” he asked, not finding anything suspicious in what he could see of her expression.

“If you paid a greater attention in your lessons, you would know that our kingdom has many, successful deals with people of the land to acquire thing we cannot produce,” she reprimanded.

“We didn’t reach that part yet!” Percy exclaimed, offended. He had been paying attention to the lessons! Even if they were ridiculous and boring and sometimes downright awful. “It’s not my fault that the tutor goes so slo-” 

This time the corners of Amphitrite’s mouth pulled up in a quick smile and there was no mistaking it for something else. They had been getting more along since their mh, _talk_ , in the throne room, but Percy just know realized that the goddess had been - teasing him. And had been finding it entertaining. But two could play this game.

“So I would also be able to tell them to only cook cheeseburgers from now on,” he stated, and was rewarded by one of Amphitrite’s deadliest gazes.

“Don’t push it,” she said, but there was no real malice in her eyes.

Percy smiled.

.

Two weeks from then, a load of coffee seeds arrived in Atlantis for the first time in all of its history.

.

 _Chiron_ \- he wrote one evening, tired to the bones.

_I am safe in Atlantis, don’t worry for me. I don’t know how long I will have to stay here, but things are kind of messy right now and I can’t say more.  
I tried writing to Annabeth but she didn’t answer. Is she okay? Please inform my mom that I’m alright, and answer me if you receive this letter, so that I know if I can actually send things._

_See you soon,  
Percy_

It didn’t seem enough. It sounded cold and distant and excessively formal, but he didn’t know what else to write. How worried would Chiron become if he told him the extent of the situation he found himself in? No, he already had too many things to worry about.

He placed a drachma on the letter and watched it disappear in front of his eyes.

.

After nine days of observing the soldiers, Percy arrived to the long-awaited conclusion that he wasn’t going to be able to come to know them in the short time he had at his disposal.

In the lower city there were talks that the Duke was being hosted by some of his supporters and that he was gathering the necessary strength to assault the Palace or, according to others, to actually start the first trial and try to climb the stairs.

Percy couldn’t lose his advantage, and he knew that the sooner people recognized him as King, the sooner the word spread that the succession crisis was over, the less people would join Bythus’ side and the easier it would be to re-establish order all around the kingdom. Atlantis hadn’t been the only city hit by protests and attacks, even if it had been the _most_ damaged, and the kingdom had just started to recover after the war with the titans: the lower classes couldn’t afford another war.

It was with that thought that Percy had called the soldiers and the generals for an assembly in the Arena, hoping to give a convincing enough speech. Many of them had kneeled to him once already after all, when he had succeeded in the first trial, so it wasn’t unlikely that they would be willing to swear fealty to him. But some of the higher ranking officials were dubious: about his young age, about his inexperience, his unsuitable upbringing.

“Thank you for being here,” Percy started, trying to let his eyes wander all around the crowd as he had been taught. There were some merpeople and ichthyocentaurs, but most of the soldiers were a bit of both: the history of the kingdom was long and complicated, but it hadn’t taken long to understand that the coming together of the two species was frowned upon and the resulting children discriminated in public and private, leaving the army as basically their only option of employment in adulthood.

He hoped to be able to change that in the future, if he managed to become King.

“Your kingdom, your home, is in danger. Duke Bythus wants war, wants to destroy and we’re not yet ready for another conflict,” he stated, staring at the generals almost daring them to interrupt him. “Many were lost against the titans, many young lives that-”

“They died because of you!”, a merman yelled, one Percy hadn’t met yet. A tenant apparently, from the decorations on his uniform.

“I did not kill them,” he answered, trying and failing to keep his voice level, “nor I asked the titans to attack.”

“You convinced Poseidon to abandon us! He came to you, and left us here with a war we couldn’t win without him. And now you dare coming here and speak of the ones we have lost as if it has nothing to do with you?”

It had been someone else to talk now, and Percy swallowed harshly. No one had informed him they resented him like this in the army, or he would have tried a different approach. But he _should_ have thought about it, shouldn’t he? Instead, he had been worried about fancy words and promises he might not be able to keep. He was already failing as a King without having even started.

“I understand your anger,” he resumed faintly, looking in the direction the last voice came from, “but it was necessary for Poseidon to defeat Typhon. If he hadn’t- if he hadn’t none of us would be here now.”

They still seemed unhappy, but no one interrupted again, so Percy continued, “I’m not asking you to pretend it never happened. I’m just here to say that- “ he paused, letting his eyes move between the soldiers to judge their reaction, “-that I understand you want things to _change_. But the change Duke Bythus promises will not be for the best. You have seen the destruction he has caused just here in this city, while in hiding and with little resources.”

“What more do you think he would be willing to destroy once he is actually in a position of power? Villages that are in lands he wants to use for profit? How many of your, of _our_ , people will have to die before even his supporters understand that his desire for bloodshed will never be satiated?”

Silence reigned in the assembly. No one spoke a word, no one moved, and he couldn’t understand if it was a good sign or a bad one. He stared the closest general to him in the eyes, and felt immensely young, and insignificant.

In the deep sea, creatures could live for centuries. Who was him to rule them? What power did he hold to make these war veterans follow his orders?

“Swear fealty to me,” he concluded, “and help me _become_ the leader you would like to have.”

No one moved, and Percy felt terror settle deep into his bones. He had failed, and the kingdom would collapse. Amphitrite would never forgive him, and he would never be able to return to the sea again. It was over and he would have to walk back to the Palace in shame, with the bitter taste of failure on his tongue and-

Someone spoke. A familiar voice. Oh, how could he have forgotten him?

“Poseidon trusted you,” Dolphin stated, his voice ringing loud and clear in the courtyard, “I have obeyed him for eons, and I will in this too. Me and the dolphins are yours to command, Prince Perseus.”

He kneeled down, and the soldiers around him did too. Dolphin was the oldest general, the closest commander to the god of the sea: he had an _enormous_ influence over the rest of the army, and to see it in first person was almost scary. 

One after another, all the soldiers swore fealty to him, but Percy knew it wasn’t really a victory. They had listened Dolphin and trusted him, not Percy, and if he wanted the army to actually be on _his_ side, he needed them to be faithful to him as Percy and not as the son of the late King.

He didn’t have any power to make them listen to him, he realized, returning back to the Palace with the horn to call the army in one hand and the signed papers in the other. He didn’t have a power, he just had his father’s blood in his veins. And it wouldn’t guarantee loyalty for very long.

.

“There are currently sixteen duchies in the kingdom,” his history tutor, a short and fat ichthyocentaur explained, “every duchy is then divided into counties: the biggest duchy, the one of the of the Northern Sea, has eight counties, but generally their number varies from two to four.” 

“How many counties does Duke Bythos have?” Percy asked. He didn’t really _know_ how the system worked, but it seemed like an important thing to understand.

His tutor, Lydos, sighed. “The one of the Southern Sea is the second biggest duchy in the kingdom, and it’s divided into five counties, all exceptionally productive and prosperous if we exclude the one of the Davis Sea, where there was a terrible epidemic almost two-hundred years ago.”

“So as King I would be in charge of the dukes, and then the dukes in charge of the earls?”

“Directly yes,” Lydos answered, “but you must not forget about the lesser nobility like barons and viscounts. Even if they don’t usually have much land of their own, they control great parts of the earls and dukes’ one: their support could change the course of an eventual war.” 

Percy nodded, and let the old ichthyocentaur continue with his lesson about the different duchies, while he took notes of the most important points. Every duchy had the same basic laws that applied in all the kingdom, and then ones that had been made by the duke or voted by the people, always with the King’s permission but without his direct involvement. The various seas in fact had different needs and different customs, so it made sense for many of the laws to be different too.

“All of the dukes will have to be invited here for your coronation, and for the banquet afterwards, so that you may know them and especially so that they may know you. It’s imperative that you acquire the support of at least half of them and especially of the duke of the Northern Sea.”

“I understand,” Percy answered, looking at Lydos with a serious expression, “I need their support so that the commerce may continue, the deals hold and so that in case of attack I’d have the dukes’ armies in addition to my own.”

“And-” Lydos added, “-if they are on your side they won’t be on Duke Bythus’, which means he’ll have less resources and less supporters and might not be able to actually push his claim to the throne of Atlantis.”

“Do you really think he’ll wage war?”

The ichthyocentaur sighed, starting to put his books away, “Yes,” he answered, “but not soon. He doesn’t have the means right now, and Bythus has never been the one to take uncalculated risks.”

“You know him?” Percy pressed, surprised.

Lydos flinched slightly. “He has been duke for about fifty years,” he answered, “it’s a long enough time to come to have an idea of someone.”

But it wasn’t the full truth, Percy could see that. Lydos had hesitated a moment too long, and his answer had been quite vague.

“We have been here long enough already my Lord,” the ichthyocentaur added then, before Percy could request further information, “go now, or you’ll be late for dance practice and punctuality-”

“- is a form of respect, yes I know Lydos,” Percy concluded. He had heard that phrase a thousand of times, after he had arrived at his last lesson of the day two minutes late: wasn’t a king supposed to just do what he wanted anyway?

Lydos left the classroom quickly, and Percy sighed. He would press the matter one day, and if his tutor refused to answer… well he could just ask Amphitrite, he was sure she knew everything that had ever happened in the Palace.

Or most of it, anyway.

Who knew if she was aware that he sneaked down into the kitchens to make himself coffee and eat forbidden snacks almost every night.

He surely wouldn’t tell her.

.

Percy sat on the floor in front of the throne, the last ten years’ accounts on the health of the coral reef spread around him while he scribbled notes on the major changes that had occurred. Fortunately, all the documents were written in Ancient Greek, so he could read them without issues and without the words dancing around in front of his eyes like it happened when he tried to read English. Unfortunately, there were _thousand_ of pages to study, and he wasn’t even halfway through it.

Servants passed quickly behind him, and he could feel their questioning gazes on his back: but it had been the queen to tell him he needed to _familiarize_ himself with the throne, so that was just what he was doing. It’s not like he could chat with it after all. Or maybe he could? It was a magic throne after all.

“Good morning throne,” he tried, speaking in hushed tones, “I don’t bother you sitting here doing my homework right?”

The throne didn’t answer. Maybe Percy hadn’t had enough coffee for that just yet.

He shook his head, disappointed, and started to study the documents again, his fingers tapping quickly on the beautiful mosaic on the floor. Coral reefs were wonderful, but reading about the hundreds of threats they were subjected to and having to _learn_ them, less so. Humans truly had done a number on them, and if Percy had had a few more hours of sleep he probably would be very angry right now.

Considering he had spent the last week reading, studying and trying to learn how to be diplomatic all shouldered by a good couple of hours of rest every night… he was already quite proud of himself for being still able to stand. The ocean was probably helping yes, but he was still managing. Annabeth would be proud, he was sure of it.

Nor her nor Chiron had replied to his letters, so Percy had concluded they had never received them, even if Amphitrite had assured him it was possible to send letters to the surface. His father had even sent one to him, Percy remembered, but believing in this was better than thinking they weren’t replying to him on purpose.

A month had passed since he had arrived in Atlantis, and he still wasn’t King.

“Time under the sea is perceived differently,” Amphitrite had reassured him one night, when she had found him having a breakdown in Poseidon’s office, “creatures live so long here that when they say ‘soon’ it could mean a couple of years. Don’t worry too much about it right now.”

And Percy had nodded, and had felt the sudden urge to hug her and sob on her shoulder as if she were his mother. He hadn’t of course, but the lack of any kind of physical contact was really starting to take its toll: he had options of course, being a prince and all, but he had no intention of cheating on his girlfriend-that-maybe-now-hated-him. Why wasn’t she answering?

He felt angry again, and hurt. Was it so bad of him to want someone to lean on while he was in an unfamiliar, scary and dangerous situation? And it had been a _month_. Surely they had noticed that he was missing. 

“Do you think they don’t care anymore?” he asked to the throne, almost expecting an answer.

But he was met with cold, defying silence, and with a pained sigh he let servants take the books back to his office, while he retired in his chambers.

It would be a long night, and a short sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Percy is slowly being introduced to Atlantis... but he still has a very long way to go!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and as always thank you to all who read, gave kudos, bookmarked and commented- hearing from you makes my day!


	4. Year I, Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of important things explained in this chapter... enjoy!

“- yes but it’s imperative that he remains…”

“-hope to gain? Nothing but-”

“-healers and architects now or…”

Percy opened his eyes slowly, blinking in the still unfamiliar bluish light, his neck pulsing with the strain of the uncomfortable position he had slept in. He rolled back his shoulders, willing the water to massage his sore muscles, before yawning slightly and raising his eyes- just to meet the exasperated face of his stepmother and her most trusted advisor.

In his office. In front of _his_ desk. At some unholy hour in the morning.

He blinked once, then twice. The atmosphere in the room was tense, Amphitrite’s expression closed off and unreadable, her advisor’s knuckles white from the grip he had on the documents in his hand.

“What happened?” he inquired, his voice still rough but sleepiness quickly clearing out of his mind. “Does it have to do with the Duke?”

Amphitrite sighed. “It is still uncertain,” she started, while the merman scoffed next to her. She glared at him, and resumed, “the lowest part of the city has been blown out during the night. We don’t have a census of that area but- many lived there.”

“It was surely an attack from Bythus,” the merman interjected, “a ploy to make you or the Prince leave the palace or leave it unguarded, so that he may more easily claim the crown.”

“It could also be someone trying to make us think it’s been Bythus,” Amphitrite added, “I’ve known you for centuries and you’ve never been this blinded by your first impression.”

“You mean like a third party?” Percy asked, wanting to interrupt the uncomfortable exchange of glares between the two, “who would benefit from a war between us and the Duke?”

The goddess stared at him, once again as if she was looking right _into_ him. “It’s a good question, without a clear answer. After you and all of Bythus’ line the next in succession is the Duke of the Northern Sea. But Bythus has many sons and many grandsons- it’s unlikely that even in the event of a war they would all perish.”

Percy nodded, carding an hand through his wild hair. He had come to Atlantis knowing nothing about its politics, and even after a month of studying them they still seemed extremely complicated. And he still hadn’t even held court yet, nor had a formal banquet where he needed to pretend to like a lot of people who had terrible morals.

“I think we should pay for the restoration of the lower city. And maybe make it a bit nicer. And we need to take records of that area too, with the census and everything. The fact that they’re poor doesn’t make them any lesser.”

Amphitrite’s expression didn’t falter. “Could you leave us alone?” she asked her advisor after a minute of uncomfortable silence, and he nodded slightly and bowed, first to her and then to Percy too, before heading for the door and closing it behind him.

“Perseus,” she started, and her tone was so serious that he didn’t even correct her on his name, “they’re not just poor. I know Lydos has been teaching you history but… maybe we need to focus your education more on how our society is composed.”

She sighed. “The majority of the cities population is made up of ichthyocentaurs and merpeople. In Atlantis they are present more or less in even numbers, but the more south you travel, the most difficult is to find merpeople, and the more north, the less ichthyocentaurs there are.”

“Is this because Bythus is an ichthyocentaur and the Duke of the Northern Sea is a merman?” he asked, interested.

“It’s more like the contrary. Since that areas have historically been populated by only one species, the old nobility has never changed. The same family hasn’t been ruling thousand of years,” she added seeing Percy’s confused expression, “but when the power shifted, it always happened in favour of a family of the same species.”

“So the Duke of the Northern Sea is a mermaid because that area has always been populated more by them, and the same thing but with the ichthyocentaurs happened in the South” Percy summed up, pleased to have understood.

The goddess smiled slightly, and nodded. “Getting to the point of this conversation,” she resumed, “since the two populations are anatomically extremely different, they don’t marry between themselves because their progene most often wouldn't survive the first year, and surely wouldn’t reach old age.”

“The ones I met said they could only find work in the Army,” Percy interrupted, “isn’t it unfair though?”

“Their existence is-”

“It’s not their fault they were born!” Percy exclaimed, almost shouting, and suddenly it wasn’t about sea creatures anymore. It was about him, and Poseidon, and the prophecy and the thousandth of times he had been told that he should never have been born, and it was about how much it _hurt_ , still after so many years.

Amphitrite pressed her thin hands on her thighs, a tinge of… something like sadness in her dark eyes.

“What I meant,” she started, voice soft and measured, “is that their lives are plagued, by rare illnesses and anomalies and most of all- many of them are just a little more than animals.”

Percy looked at her, wanting to still be angry but not having the energy for it. “What do you mean?” he finally asked, trying to read the goddess’ face.

“As I said, the inhabitants of the lower part of the city are not just _poor_. They are less sentient, more beast than folk, who maybe have a merman or an ichthyocentaur far up in their genealogy tree and who once lived here in the city, probably centuries ago.”

“So you keep a census of them like you do for like, tunas and flounders and basses, about the general populace and not with names and occupations” Percy concluded, and Amphitrite nodded, her curls free in the water.

“But the ones in the Army seem… fine,” Percy said, tentatively. Amphitrite had been extremely patient with him today, he couldn’t deny that and he had no intention of angering her.

“You will be King soon,” she answered, staring at him, “you will choose what to do then. For now,” she concluded, gracefully standing up from the highly ornate chair, “study what Lydos tells you to, and practice the dances. You’ll need to open your coronation ceremony after all.”

“ _What?_ ” he asked, but she was out of the door already.

Soon.

.

 _Dear mom_ ,

He wrote one evening, while in his head resounded the names of all the Dukes and their spouses and their heirs.

_I don’t think you will receive this letter, but it just feels good to write it. I miss you all so much, but I don’t want to endanger any of you by coming there. Don’t worry though, I am safe for now. You won’t read this, so I can write it - mom I’m scared and I’m not capable of doing all the things they ask me to, of memorizing all these facts and names and dates. Mom I just want to come home and-_

The pen slipped from his hand, blue ink staining the letter and the table, and Percy cursed, quickly moving the records out of the way and knocking down his coffee in the process.

“Fuck,” he exclaimed, slumping into the chair and laying his head on the table, tiredness eating away his bones.

He didn’t want to keep living like this.

.

Percy was three days away from his last trial when the poisonings started.

Two kitchen-boys and one of his personal servants were found dead in the span of two days, and the already tense atmosphere of the Palace became even more suffocating. Percy could hear the whispers of the court when they thought he was out of reach, he could feel the phantom fingers of the soldiers pointing at him and calling him _murderer, traitor._

The toxins in the body of the three servants were analyzed, but none of the doctors had ever seen anything similar. “It’s not a poison of the Sea,” one of them had explained, “it could come from the Underworld, and might have been aimed to kill you, my Prince.”

Percy had nodded and thanked the man, but it seemed weird to think Hades would try to kill him this way, since he had never bothered before when he was more… reachable.

“Duke Bythus might have allies between Hades’ servants,” Amphitrite had commented when he had explained his doubts, “I agree with you that it’s highly unlikely to be a direct attack from Hades. He would gain nothing from your death”

“Let’s not rule anything out though,” her advisor had answered, “it’s a chaotic time already and this will worsen things, so we must be even more careful. Only the most trusted of our cooks will be allowed to make your meals from now on, and you will be escorted by your guards at all times.”

“What about the celebration for my last trial? Will it be safe to hold?” he asked, worried. It was basically a buffet after all, not the ideal when you had a poisoning problem at court.

“We have already invited all the most important dignitaries and many members of the most important families of the kingdom,” Amphitrite started, her tone tired but looking as collected as ever, “we are already in a frail position, we can’t afford this to fail. We need more allies.”

Her advisor nodded in agreement. “I will arrange for the events to be kept a secret. And let’s hope we manage to find the culprit before the feast.”

Percy swallowed harshly. He didn’t like this plan. While the Dukes and the Duchesses would only come to the eventual Coronation, many of their heirs or most trusted ambassadors would be attending his investiture. What if one of them ended up dead too? Could they risk a war against another important family? It would truly be a mess.

Charis and Nikon, two of the guards who had first brought him to the Palace, escorted him back to his diplomacy lesson. Instead of leaving as they always did when he started the lesson however, this time they placed themselves at the two sides of the door, _inside_ the room, their spears raised towards the ceiling.

Lydos cleared his throat uncomfortably. “It appears I have two new pupils today,” he joked, “but let’s not make it distract us, Perseus. Today, I shall teach you how to _graciously_ refuse a request for aide, be it financial or militar. First of all…”

He started to talk, and Percy tried to keep up with his notes, but his heart wasn’t in it and he kept slipping back to the thought of the trial, and the poisonings. Of the people who had died he only knew the one who had been his personal servant once or twice, but he couldn’t recall if he had ever brought him food or not. Did it make him a bad Prince, not to know the names of his own servants?

“...then of course, the second most important thing is to know how a similar request was handled in the past. It’s very unlikely that you will encounter a completely unprecedented situation in your first years as king, since it’s been thousand of years that-”

“Had there ever been poisonings like this before?” Percy interrupted, and Lydos stopped abruptly.

“Well,” he stammered, blushing a little, “well no, not in recent enough times to still have records of it but-”

“So this is something unprecedented, and it happened _before_ I was even King. Cool, I’m apparently as unlucky as that.”

“Do not despair, my Prince,” Lydos tried to reassure him, “we have sections of the army only concerned with this kind of delicate work. I am certain they will find the cause, and all will be resolved in time for the feast.”

Percy sighed, and his tutor pointed one of his fat, short fingers at him.

“The same one feast that will be a political disaster if you don’t start to pay more attention to my lessons. Let’s start again. Diplomacy is…”

Percy hit the back of the chair with his head, and took the pen again in his hand.  
It was going to be a long afternoon.

.

The following morning, Amphitrite reached him in his quarters, where breakfast was already waiting for them when he awoke.

“Any news?” he asked, his unruly hair sticking up in all directions a stark contrast with the careful braids on the goddess’ head.

“There has been another death,” she said in a deadpanned tone, “one of the maids was found unconscious in one of the lower corridors, and was immediately brought to an healer but it was too late.”

“I’m sorry,” Percy said, and Amphitrite raised an eyebrow at him. Of course the life of one of the servants didn’t really matter to her, but Percy was still human enough to care, and he hoped that part of him wouldn’t change.

“Same poison?” he then asked, just to wipe off the curious look from the goddess’ eyes.

“This times in lower quantities,“ she answered, “she probably had a strongest reaction to it than the others, maybe for her younger age.”

Percy nodded, not knowing what he was supposed to say, and he started eating, Amphitrite following suit. The silence between them was uncomfortable, tense with unspoken worries and their complicated relationship that Percy was aware could deteriorate at any moment.

“This has been cooked by my personal chef,” Amphitrite broke the silence, “she has been working for me for the past seventy years, so she is to be trusted. From now on she will take care only of your meals and mine, while the other cooks will handle the rest.”

“She’s very good,” Percy commented awkwardly, self-conscious about the disheveled attire the goddess always seemed to find him in. Maybe he should try to braid his hair too?

“Is the tailor coming this afternoon?” he asked then, already knowing the answer but just wanting to fill the silence.

Amphitrite looked at him as if she knew what he was trying to do, but she didn’t comment on it. “Yes,” she answered, “it’s time for you to start wearing the Atlantis traditional clothing for a man soon to be king, and he will also take the measurements for your Coronation robe and the clothes you will wear once you’re King.”

“You seem sure of it,” he commented, and the goddess smiled.

“You spent the last weeks literally _chatting_ with the throne. Not the route I would have ever taken, but it seems to be working for you: you’re surely becoming more familiar with it. The throne will accept you, or you probably wouldn’t even have come this far.”

“Do you think an emblem will appear when I become King?” he asked, thinking back to all the dents caused by the disappeared gods and the images he had found nothing about.

She sighed. “Do you remember what I told you in the throne room? They usually follow negative ordeals. Let’s hope for the sake of the Kingdom, that your rule will not be as disastrous as to form an emblem in the throne before it even _starts._ ”

He nodded, but he knew that disaster tended to follow him. It would surely be a good laugh for the Fates if his bad luck were to cause the fall of the oldest kingdom still in existence.

He ate a few more bites, even if it had been days since the last time he had been truly hungry: was it because he was in the sea, was it because he was stressed, his appetite was basically nonexistent. The poisonings problem then hadn’t helped the matters.

“Has the rebuilding of the houses in the lower city started yet?” he asked, for once interested in the answer.

Amphitrite nodded, carefully laying her small dish of food back on the table. “The architects have already fixed that couple of issues you pointed out in the blueprints, and now the necessary materials are being brought there from the various warehouses. We employed from those who had lost their livelihood in the explosion and from the lower classes as you asked.”

“I hope it won’t be too difficult for them to clear out the debris of their own houses,” Percy pointed out, the flaws in his decision appearing clearer than ever. He had not put into account the fact that it could be an emotionally taxing experience for those who had been involved. It seemed like he couldn’t consider more than one aspect at the time: how could he ever be a good king?

The goddess sighed, standing from her chair. “At least their children will have something to eat. It was a good idea, don’t beat yourself up over it. You’re not even their king yet.”

“But I will be,” Percy stated, looking at her straight into the eyes, “I will be, and I need to learn how to be better.”

.

The tailor was a tall, greenish mermaid with glasses so thick Percy could barely see her eyes. As soon as he stepped into the room she bowed profusely and literally _beamed_ at him.

“My Lord it’s an immense honour to be able to design your new wardrobe and… oh the Coronation attire!” she exclaimed, while Percy blushed slightly, “what an honour, what an honour!”

She kept moving around the room, looking at him and then at the various fabrics, choosing them by some criteria Percy couldn’t understand, sometimes commenting on how good and _regal_ they would look on him, and what a good stance he had, and his eyes!

All of it was extremely embarrassing, and Percy found himself fighting the urge of crossing his arms over his stomach, trying instead to keep them steady at his sides. He couldn’t avoid shuffling on his feet every now and then though, especially after she made him strip down to his underwear, ‘to take measurements’.

“What are your thoughts on purple my dear?” she asked, balancing in one hand four different shades of it. Was one of it velvet? It was too _warm_ for velvet.

“Mmh,” he started, taken by surprise by the question, “I like green and blue better?”

The tailor sighed, and placed only a couple of the purple fabrics on what Percy had come to call “the yes pile”.

“Your wardrobe can’t be of clothes all of the same colour,” she stated, this time showing him two fabrics in different shades of black, “different occasions call for different colours, and as a King you will have to maintain the tradition. For example, black is used for funerals or late evening posh parties. Which one of these?”

The two fabrics looked identical: one was just a shade less dark. Was there a right answer?

“The left one,” he tried, and the mermaid looked pleased. “I haven’t had the opportunity to work with Audouinella in so long! But I know how, worry not,” she added, looking suddenly panicked.

Percy just smiled. He had no idea what that… thing was. Good thing he didn’t have to make his own clothes, or he would become king in cargo shorts and a faded t-shirt. Unless Amphitrite murdered him before he could be crowned, which would probably happen if he dared to show himself dressed like that.

“So, for your last trial you will wear the Army uniform, same shapes as the one of the soldiers unfortunately, but I have a couple of colours we can choose from, and I can add little decorations to make it _shine_ just a little bit more.”

“They haven’t given me any uniform,” Percy interrupted, confused. He had studied of course that the King was also at the top of the hierarchical structure of the Army, but for now he had done nothing more than train and chat with the soldiers. They hadn’t even consulted him on the poisonings’ investigation, and the only things he knew about it were the ones Amphitrite had told him.

“You won’t be given a _used_ uniform!” she said, surprise in her tone, “I’ll design you a new one of course, and then me and my team will sew it in no time at all. The Coronation robes will take a bit more time of course- we’ll not sway much from the traditional for now but it will still be a very complex work of embroidery and…Oh don’t let an old lady bore you with this, young Prince,” she added suddenly, and Percy would have liked to tell her that it was better than the awkward comments of before, but even if he was bad at etiquette he understood that it would have been considered impolite.

That didn't mean he was going to just stay silent.

“Have you been a tailor for long?” he asked, letting the mermaid swirl around him, with a long flowing tape measure the same bright red of corals.

“Oh yes!” she answered with the same chippy tone she had said everything until then, “I’ve only been working for the Palace for the last couple of decades though, since Her Royal Highness Amphitrite employed me for an evening dress. What an honour it was, to enter these sacred halls for the first time!”

Percy could definitely understand her awe: the Palace was truly magnificent, even if he hadn’t seen probably even a quarter of it. The restructuration had started again on the area where his room was and it was now nearly finished, but there were entire zones that still looked as if they had been bombed the day before. Talks of employing citizens in need after a brief training were entertained, but now with the issue of the poisonings and the organization of the last trial’s celebration, everything had been put on hold.

“Alright dear, raise your arms for a second and then we’ll be done,” she chirped, writing down something in a weirdly structured block notes “perfect, perfect! You may dress again.”

“The uniform for your last trial will be ready two mornings from now, just in time for your trial. Oh what a magnificent feast is going to be, are you excited young Lord?”

Percy thought about the constant threats of being poisoned or murdered that would only increase during a celebration with hundreds of friendly and not-so-friendly nobles.

“Extremely,” he answered, smiling pleasantly at the woman.

It was time to think of a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm FINALLY going on vacation, but I should manage to stick to the schedule and post again in two weeks' time.
> 
> Hope you liked this chapter, and let me know your thoughts! I love hearing from all of you :)


	5. Year I, Part V

Percy couldn’t sleep.

He turned and turned into his bed, accidentally throwing a couple of the decorative pillows onto the floor. The room was unfamiliar, the shape of the furniture barely recognizable in the darkness, and the more Percy concentrated on seeing the less it seemed he was able to. Something in the room unnerved him and his heart started to beat so fast that he could hear it in his ears, its rhythmic thumping like the one of hooves on a marble pavement. Like the sound Grover made on Olympus, when he was there smiling, victorious and then- he turned and there was blood on his legs, and a shadow above him and he was screaming and-

His eye caught movement next to his desk.

“Guards!” he yelled, furiously calling the lights to him and before he could move out of bed Nikon had barged in, spear in his hand while another two guards encircled Percy’s bed, all ready to fight.

But there was no intruder.

“I saw something moving,” Percy explained, his breaths still short and rigged, “I woke up and it was dark but I’m sure there was… there was…” he gestured to the room.

The guards exchanged glances. “We have been in front of the door all evening,” Nikon stated, “if something managed to enter here it wasn’t from there. Search the room,” he ordered to the other two guards, “we’re not taking risks.”

The guards started looking around, while Percy shakily got out of the bed, deliberately planting his feet on the floor hoping that the coldness of it could calm him down. Why had he had such a strong reaction to his nightmare? It surely wasn’t the first he had had since he had arrived in Atlantis.

“The Queen is in the main library,” Nikon supplied, staring at him with… sympathy? pity? “I will escort you there if you wish not to return to sleep when they’re done” he said gesturing to the two guards, who were now inside the bathroom.

Percy stared down at himself, his oversized t-shirt and old pair of shorts, and felt like a little kid looking for his mother after a nightmare.

But Amphitrite wasn’t his mother, and he was to become King in the morning.

“It’s alright,” he answered, smiling at the merman, “sorry to have disturbed you. It’s probably just the nerves for tomorrow.”

Nikon nodded, but he didn’t smile back, and Percy had the impression that his answer had disappointed him. Was it because he thought he was lying? Or maybe he wanted to look for something in his room, to see if he was behind the poisonings like many in the Army believed. Or, most likely, he was just tired of playing babysitter to him and Percy was becoming paranoid.

The guards finished their search, returning empty-handed. “The room is clear my Lord,” they announced, and Percy thanked them and let them return to their post outside. Then he rose from the bed and swam around the room, mimicking the soldiers’ earlier actions and personally controlling every surface, every niche in the walls.

There was nothing, and even his documents were just as he had left them on the desk, next to the lamp and- he stopped. 

There was a letter to his desk that hadn’t been there before, and Percy hurriedly reached for it and tried to feel what was inside. The paper was ivory, and on the back _For Percy_ was written in a curly, elegant calligraphy that didn’t belong to Annabeth, nor to Chiron or even to his mother. He swallowed harshly, sat back on his bed and sliced it open, revealing a short letter.

_The Palace has been warded against any letters coming from the mortal world,_ it said, and Percy could not avoid feeling a bit relieved that his friends hadn't been ignoring him. But the Queen had said that he could exchange mail with them: had Bythus done something?

_Your friends have been informed of the situation, and are looking for a solution, but they won’t be able to communicate with you. Delivering this in person was too great of a risk already._

Hermes, he thought. Hermes had been in his room. Good thing he wasn’t becoming crazy, even if he wasn’t too happy that a god could just… appear into his chambers. Probably it was just Hermes who had a pass for Atlantis though, considering his duty was to deliver messages there too.

_Be careful,_ the letter concluded, _there is currently only one person in Atlantis who could have put on such wards._

It wasn’t signed, but there was no need for it to be.

Only one person. Maybe the Duke? But he wasn’t in Atlantis and to be able to put wards on the Palace he should have been authorized by- by the Queen. Amphitrite, Hermes referred to her. But why would she block his correspondence, after explicitly telling him he could write?

He put the letter away in a locked drawer of his desk, ready to use it as proof in case Amphitrite denied having ever done something. He felt exhausted, and dawn was only a couple of hours away, bringing with her one of the most stressing days he’d have: the last trial. He couldn’t confront the Queen before it of course, he would need to wait and do so after the celebrations or, if he wanted to act wisely, even after the Coronation, when he would be officially King and therefore legally above her.

It would be a couple of months yes, but Hermes had assured him his friends were working on a solution and he believed them: Zeus and Hades had been there when Poseidon had been cursed and he didn’t doubt that Nico had probably annoyed his father until he had given a satisfactory explanation for Percy’s disappearance.

He laid down back on the bed, a small smile playing on his lips: Amphitrite’ actions hurt, especially when she had pretended to get along with him, but they weren’t totally unexpected. He had been waiting for the other shoe to drop since their first encounter, and coming to know that for now _this_ was the only length she dared to go was comforting in some horribly twisted way.

He felt, for the first time since he had arrived, that the light at the end of the tunnel might be closer than he had imagined.

.

The full dress uniform the tailor had made him was, for Percy’s delight, very comfortable. While the breeches’ only decoration were the golden lampasses on the sides, the jacket had medals pinned on it: for his victory against the Titans and the Giants, for having survived Tartarus and for many of the monsters he had killed, and he spent almost half an hour just looking at them. How had they been done so quickly?   
Under the jacket his valet forced him to wear a padded undershirt, with a thin chain mail above it that fortunately wasn’t as heavy as a normal armour: or maybe he just didn’t feel it because he was underwater.

“Wonderful,” Amphitrite stated entering the room, and Percy couldn’t avoid stiffening for a minute. The goddess noticed, her eyes confused for a second, but she didn’t press, handing instead a golden aiguillette to his valet..

“Now you _truly_ look like a Prince of the Sea,” she said when it was pinned across his chest, ending just below his right shoulder. Percy could only stare at himself in the mirror, and wonder who the hell was that man that looked back at him. He seemed so much… _older_ and as if he had just come out of one of those paintings about a late nineteenth century King.

Was that really what he looked like?

He almost felt like crying, suddenly overwhelmed by the enormity of the situation. Here he was, dressed like a soldier when he had never truly been one, behaving like a prince when he had never been trained to do so and about to reclaim a throne that had only ever known one King. He swallowed harshly, trying to suppress the desire to have his father _there_ , to look at him wearing his colours and… he didn’t really even know what he wanted. 

_Liar,_ his mind screamed. _Coward_.

Because yes, he wanted Poseidon to look at him with pride in eyes. To recognize how difficult the situation had been and to tell him he had handled it well, that he would be allowed to visit him in Atlantis more, that he would… be part of the family. Above all, he wanted to be told he _belonged_.

“Ready?” Amphitrite asked, snapping him out of his thoughts with her gentle voice. Percy looked at her, trying to decipher if she had understood where his thoughts had led him, but her expression was completely closed off, as if she were already holding court, so he nodded and followed the guards outside of the room.

.

Percy entered the empty throne room, and breathed in relief.

Him and the guards had passed through the hundreds and hundreds of minor nobles and ambassadors that would be awaiting for the end of the trial in what Amphitrite had defined ‘the ballroom of daytime events’: a beautiful veranda with walls made of shimmering crystal and big enough to comfortably fit thousands, housed in one of the Palace gardens.

Percy hoped he would be able to enter there victorious.

He advanced slowly towards the throne, swimming just above the mosaics of the pavement: he had been in the room dozens of times, but it still took his breath away as it had done at first, even now that it was empty and… slightly cold.  
No one had told him what _exactly_ he needed to do, for probably no one knew since Atlantis had ever had only one king and an immortal one at that: the protocol for succession had probably been written to reassure the nobles of the stability of the kingdom, something that Percy had found in his studies to be of the utmost importance.

Slowly, he let his knees touch the ground in front of the throne, and lowered his head until his eyes stared straight at the ground.

“I am Perseus, son of Poseidon,” he declared with a hint of nervousness in his voice, “and I kneel here to claim the kingdom mine by birthright and the throne mine by hardship and effort.”

He paused, listening for any changes, but nothing happened. How was he to know whether he had succeeded or not? Lydos believed the signal would be obvious, but now Percy regretted not having insisted more in coming to know what it could be.

“The Palace has welcomed my presence,” he continued panicking for something to say, “and the Army has put itself under my leadership. I swear to always do my best for the people and all animals and plants who live in the waters, salt or shallow may they be.”

His chest tightened painfully, and he allowed himself a couple of deep breaths. Then, tentatively, he raised his head towards the seat of the throne.

“Will you accept me as your ruler?” he asked, and the stone trembled almost as much as he did when something burned on his back and his chest and his legs and then inside him, and all around and it hurt and hurt and-

A horrible sound escaped from his lips, a ragged scream that upset him more than the pain that made his fingers tingle and his toes curl, while he tried futilly to breathe through his flaming nose. He wouldn’t be able to handle that much pain for very long, he knew that in the only remaining working part of his brain, the one terrified, the one aware that he was burning alive.

He slumped over the throne, and found it blissfully _cold_ under his touch. Groaning, he tried to stand up but his legs couldn’t sustain his weight and he had to crawl on its steps, the pain slightly less intense in the places where his skin touched the marble. Another scream opened his way through his mouth and he bit his lip until he felt blood dripping from his chin and unto his clothes. _Amphitrite will not be pleased I dirtied them_ , he thought, and then everything went black.

.

“There is going to be war,” a voice said somewhere on his right and Percy opened his eyes, only to find himself seated… around the kitchen table of his mother’s house.

“What?” he answered, confused. There was a reason why he couldn’t be in New York. Monsters? Perhaps he was on a quest. He tried to stand up, placing his feet on the old-worn floor, but he lacked the strength to raise himself up and unceremoniously slumped back on the chair. Wait- someone had talked. There was someone with him in the room.

He turned quickly, his neck straining painfully from the movement, and his gaze met a pair of eyes identical to his own.

“You’re back,” he breathed, relief dripping from every syllable, while the memories of the past days reached his mind again. But Poseidon shook his head, a sad look on his face.

“There is going to be a war,” he repeated, “the worst the kingdom has ever faced, for this is its moment of greatest need. Do not despair, my son, even if the way is difficult: you will have someone to share the burden with.”

“So you can’t-” Percy started, voice breaking, “-you can’t help?”

All of his body was burning again, but he forced his eyes to remain open and swallowed down a scream. He would not show weakness in front of his father. He could- handle it.

“Trust her,” his father ordered, coming closer to him, “I would have never wished this upon you but you mu-”

Suddenly it was like the flames had been lit anew on him and Percy screamed, his skin burning and burning, all of him engulfed by pain until the world became black again, Poseidon’s words swimming in his mind: _you must do your best._

.

Tattoos.

The throne had given him tattoos.

Percy stared down at his chest in shock. It was the only part of his body that had still felt on fire when he had regained consciousness, so he had stripped down the jacket, the chain mail and the padded undershirt, expecting a burn wound and only finding a dark blue tattoo instead, just below his collarbone.

He traced his fingers above it as delicately as he could, amazed after all about how detailed it was: the symbols of all the sixteen duchies coming to form a circle around a small trident, the words _Κρατήσου γερά_ written in small letters below it.

_Hold tight,_ the same words his father had written to him in that letter so many years ago.

He swallowed the harsh nostalgia that had formed in his throat and quickly buttoned up the jacket again, leaving the chainmail and the padded shirt on the floor where one of the servants would find it and bring it to his room again, then walked off the throne room towards the veranda.

He had done it. He was king. He thought he would feel relieved to have passed the trial, or even happy that he had managed a difficult task, but his stomach was in turmoil, a sense of imminent doom settling itself comfortably at the bottom of it, lulled to sleep by a terrible feeling of dread. 

And when he opened the doors of the veranda and the nobles turned silent, scrutinizing him with incredulous eyes until he opened up the jacket and showed them the symbol of his kingship, he realized that the real work still needed to start.

_Long live King Perseus_ , they chanted then, but it was like he was hearing it from another body, in another plane of existence: everything seemed distant, every sound, every smell, like he was looking at his body from the outside.

Someone patted his shoulder and he flinched, turning around quickly to smile at the startled mermen, who slightly bowed.

“Your Majesty, I am Kolons, Earl of the Caspian Sea,” he started and Percy noted that his tunic was decorated with whitish gulls, the symbol of his duchy. He inclined his head politely: there was no sense in presenting himself.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am certain you will do great things, as your father before you.”

“I thank you, Lord Kolons,” Percy answered as he had been told to, trying to place some sort of interest in his voice. He still felt so detached from the outside world that even the sounds seemed to take longer into arriving to his ears.

“May I introduce you to my family?” the merman asked, “I traveled with my wife and my eldest daughter, and they’re eager to meet their new king.”

A nereid next to him snickered, and turned away. “Of course,” Percy answered, sticking to the polite answer. He wasn’t confident enough yet to risk being considered _too_ arrogant, and with his young age it would only have been seen as rude and unprofessional, and not as a sign of strong character. Not that he considered himself to have a strong character, nor to be arrogant, but he couldn’t deny that he spoke his mind perhaps too much often and in the company of the wrong people.

He gently let the two mermaids introduce themselves and listened to their chats with half an ear before excusing himself towards the food table. He had been prohibited to eat for fear of poison, since the one behind the deaths in the Palace still hadn’t been caught nor the poison identified. Percy seriously hoped nothing bad would happen at this celebration, or his reign would be marked as cursed before it even began.

Some were already saying it after all, and too many servants knew the truth for it not being about to come out. But Amphitrite had decided secrecy the best course of action and even if the fact that she had _blocked_ his correspondence and made him believe to have been abandoned hurt, it’s not like he wasn’t expecting something like it and even his father had told him to trust her. _And he never said you were doing a good job_ , his mind reminded him, but Percy shoved the thought back with all the other unpleasant things he ignored. 

It wasn’t the right time, and he already had half an idea on a different method to communicate with his friends anyway.

Many different people introduced himself to him, and Percy found his first real opportunity to practice what he had learned about the customs of the different duchies, discussing with the ambassadors or the minor nobles about the products they exported, the festivities that were coming in a few months.

“I think most of them like you,” Amphitrite whispered to him when he retired into a corner to watch the room, “even if you haven’t really _tried_. I expect better for your Coronation ceremony: there will be allies to make there, and you won’t be allowed to fail.”

“I know,” he answered, and then “I’m sorry,” he added quietly.

The goddess stared at him, her dark skin shiny under the soft lights of the room. “What ails you?” she asked after a minute, and Percy sagged his shoulders slightly against the wall.

“Just a bit disoriented since after the trial,” he murmured, “it hurt” he specified at Amphitrite’s pointed glare, in even a softer voice and noted a bit of tension leaving her body.

“You have not consumed any sustenance?” 

He shook his head. “I ate nothing,” he confirmed, “how much longer is this going to last?”

She sighed. “No more than a couple of days. They all need to return to their work and their lords. It will be a quick feast.”

“A couple of _days?_ ” Percy almost yelled, and the goddess gestured for him to lower his voice, her eyes piercing and angry. “Yes Perseus,” she answered through gritted teeth, smiling at a couple of ichthyocentaurs that passed in front of them “the kingdom found itself with a new king when it never expected, nor desired one. However, since we have not proclaimed the state of mourning for Poseidon or the other sea gods, the celebrations must be carried on labeled only as happy occurrences.”

“And the protocol for them are _days_ of celebration,” he sighed dramatically. Then, a part of his brain that had been buried by the terrible pain of the trial turned on again.

“How long am I expected to remain for this celebration?” he asked, and the goddess smirked, an evil glint in her eyes.

“You could have left after the first round of introductions,” she answered with a calm voice, but Percy could still _hear_ the smirk in her words.

What a bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this, I surely did have fun writing it.  
> As always, looking forward to hearing from you!


	6. Year I, Part VI

None of the guests was poisoned during the feast.

The chef and two other servants were.

Percy felt very conflicted about the news: on one hand he was _extremely_ relieved that he wouldn’t have to handle angry nobles and that the issue for now remained a secret, but on the other hand he also felt _guilty_ about feeling relieved that the only ones who died had been servants. They were people too, their life held the same value as the one of the nobles.

Even if underwater society really didn’t work _that_ way. It was a bit like being stuck in a middle ages realm with only a few more rights for women: they could join the army, study and get a well-paying job, but their options were more limited and if they belonged to a noble family then their marriage would most often be more of a political alliance with another family.

The more Percy studied and came to know about it the more he wanted to change things, starting from the mercentaur that could apparently only work as soldiers and then slowly reforming the society into a more modern structure.  
It was an extremely ambitious project however, and he was well aware that not even his entire lifetime would be enough to convince the nobles of the necessity of it: adding that he hoped not to have to remain in Atlantis for more than a year or so, it truly seemed impossible.

But he could start trying. Maybe a little change in the right direction would be better than no change at all. And if he managed to get Amphitrite on his side… well perhaps when his father returned to his throne he would be willing to keep some of the changes or continue his programs of modernization.

It was a nice dream. It was a _necessary_ dream, in the hectic mess his life had turned into after he had unofficially become king. Duke Bythus still hadn’t given any direct statement on the situation and while disorders continued in the lower city, nothing had turned into violent riots. Some of the generals Percy had consulted agreed on the fact that Atlantis found himself in the calm before the storm: Bythus was probably assessing his strength, buying himself allies and preparing for a war.

And he would have to do the same soon

The Coronation had been planned for three months away, as to give the nobles from all around the globe the time to set dispositions in order for their quite-long absence: apart from the time of the journey, the feast itself would probably last around a week or two with various activities and outings that had to be planned to satisfy every taste.

Percy was really glad that he didn’t have to plan _any_ of it: he basically just had to look pretty, say the right words to the right people and make allies for possibly the worst civil war the kingdom had ever gone through. And dance- he had to learn all the traditional sea formal dances, that were long and complicated and required a precision that he just didn’t have.

But no pressure. Amphitrite and Lydos only reminded him about thrice a day. So there was absolutely no need to panic over it. No need at all.

And yet here he was, huddled into the most secluded corner of the garden with the battle plans of the last civil war, wondering how on earth would he ever manage to handle such a heavy load of work. He had fought the Titans and the Giants yes, but they had been _battles_ not full out wars: all the political aspects had been irrelevant and there hadn’t been a real army of actual, paid soldiers to obey his orders and possibly die for a slight mistake of his.

Dolphin and the other generals would help of course- but they still didn’t like him nor trusted him enough to actually listen to his ideas, so he would need to change that before it could lead to a betrayal on the battlefield.

Educating himself on the strategies of the previous battles had seemed a good place to start, but now Percy was starting to regret it. It had been days since the last time he had had the opportunity to stretch his muscles with a good training and his mood was starting to be affected: thus why he had secluded himself in the garden. He didn’t want to be approached by curious nereids or overbearing servants. Or Amphitrite, that with her steady gaze and soft tone would manage to coax him into doing something ridiculous like agreeing to a formal banquet or holding a public speech in the main square.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t avoid responsibilities forever and a couple of hours later his new manservant, a young merman named Flustra, came to lead him back into the Palace.

“Lady Amphitrite has arranged for a meeting with the Council,” he explained while he dressed him into more formal clothes, “remember that they’ve been handling the most serious issues for you since Ki- sorry, since Lord Poseidon… left.” he cleared his throat sheepishly, fixing the collar of the undershirt.

“So I guess I’ll have to thank them,” Percy joked, aiming to make the boy relax a little. But he just tensed more, and stared at his eyes from the reflection in the mirror.

“They’re all very old,” his manservant started, “ _really_ old and really conservative. They’re not going to be pleased that you became King. Be careful about their advice- they might not have your best interests at heart.”

Percy nodded: he was glad for the advice, even if it just had made him more worried than he already was. Which was a lot.

“But surely, if not mine, they must have at least the _kingdom’s_ best interests at heart. And from what I understood Bythus’ reign would not bring prosperity nor stability, and most of all wouldn’t allow for a peaceful transition of power when my father gets back.”

“No,” Flustra agreed, “but it would bring them power. Just be careful alright?” he asked, grabbing Percy’s right hand between his.

Unconsciously it seemed, because as soon as Percy’s surprised gaze stopped itself on their joined hands he took it away and stepped back, throwing a glance towards the door and his azure skin blushing slightly.

“I am-” he started, but Percy interrupted him with a shrug. It had been so long since he had experienced another person touch outside of the arena that no part of him had minded the boy’s concern. It happened to everyone, Percy reasoned, to get so carried away while talking that you just lost control of the way your body moved. It had probably been just a way to make him listen better, and even if he was king he wasn’t truly expected to stick to etiquette manners with his manservant. He had binge watched _Merlin_ with his mother after all, and they seemed to be quite close: maybe they could become like that, for he would surely enjoy having a trusted friend at court, where every relationship seemed instead to be calculated to obtain the maximum political gain.

When all of his clothes were in order and his hair combed, him and Flustra passed through the nacre staircase and reached a well-lit oval room, with every wall made of grey stone and a rectangular table in the middle, with maps and papers draped all over it.

As soon as Percy stepped in all of the seven councillors raised to their feets and bowed their heads. Flustra slightly nudged Percy forward, and he self consciously made his way to the chair at the head of the table. Was he supposed to tell them to sit down? Or would they sit when he did?

At the end, he opted for a comb of the two options. “Please, let’s start the meeting,” he said and then proceeded to sit down, all of the councillors doing the same.

Every one of them represented one of the Seven Seas, and they were all specialized in different sciences useful for a balanced reign: war, politics, economy and all of the such. Flustra had been right in saying they were truly old: some of them looked so frail that they would just disintegrate with a little push.

“As I was told you’ve been handling the most serious issues of the kingdom in these weeks, I thank you for your hard work and I hope that from now on we will manage to work together efficiently,” Percy stated, liking the way he had managed to not make his voice tremble. He had done a lot of progress since the first time he had spoken in public, and he was proud of it.

“To _work efficiently_ , you should first be acquainted with what we’re actually working on,” one of the mermen on his right rebutted, but Percy had no intention of allowing him to rile him up.

Amphitrite had prepared him for this.

“That is a reasonable request, Lord Nilmus. As the expert on trade and land-ocean commerce deals, perhaps you could inform me of the most pressing issues that we are facing right now. I presume my request for coffee seeds has met your approval?”

“Of course your Grace,” the merman said, raising to his full height, “it has been most relieving to know that our new king would have the help he needs to be able to care of the realm’s issues.”

Some of the councillors snickered, and Percy’s hands twitched. Nilmus was _mocking_ him, he knew. Should he ignore him? Answer with strength so that it wouldn’t happen again? No, it was too soon for that. It would just help the people label him as a tyrant, or as unfit to rule and the crisis would start again.

He opened his mouth with a dry reply ready on his tongue, but then decided that antagonizing his own Council wouldn’t bring any good things. Better they thought him dense than arrogant, at least for now.

“Of course I take the wellbeing of the Kingdom very seriously, Lord Nilmus,” he answered and then, addressing the rest of the men he continued, “since I am certain this is a topic we all agree to be of the utmost importance.”

There were a few murmured affirmatives and a couple of heads nodding, which wasn’t really what Percy was expecting. If they weren’t even able to agree on him that the safety of the same own kingdom they lived in was important, he had no idea how he would manage to press on the most important topics.

When everyone had turned silent again, the ichthyocentaur on his right cleared his throat and at Percy’s nod stood up, planting his hands on the table for support.

“Your Grace, please allow me to introduce myself before we proceed,” he said glaring daggers at Nilmus as if reprimanding him of his childish behaviour, “As the representative of the Southern Pacific Ocean I have served your father for many centuries in matters of social issues and urban living. I have heard you have had… questions about the topic.” he concluded, now staring at him.

And thinking that Percy had thought him on his side.

“Yes,” he started carefully thinking on how to better word himself a way out of this scrutiny: it was still to early for a direct approach of the topic, for he still hadn’t a clear idea on how things worked and, most of all, had the certainty that he would have no allies yet in the rest of the council members.

“I come from land, where things are different,” he started ignoring the scoffs of some of the oldest councilors, “and while I have been studying most diligently, there are aspects of this realm that have left me perplexed,” he smiled, “I thank you for making yourself available to answer any question I might have though. I believe I will soon take you up on your kind offer.”

An offer they both knew hadn’t been implied in his words, but that wasn’t Percy’s problem. For now he just contented himself that none of the other councilors seemed about to create anymore problems.

At least for this session.

.

Hermes had written that the outer world could not communicate with him, but nothing implied that they couldn’t receive his letters.

So, one evening after his tutor had been exceptionally harsh he decided to take a pause from the incessant study on warfare and sat in front of his wooden desk with a blank parchment and a pot of dark blue ink.

 _Dear Annabeth_ , he began, a small smile spreading from his lips.

_I hope this letter finds you well. Here the situation is quite stable for now, even if all of my days are hectic and busy and I’m not totally sure of what I am doing. When have I ever been after all? I know you must be over yourself trying to find a solution but Annabeth, my love- I think the only way to overcome this will be to let the curse do its course and wait_

He grimaced at the play of words. Why had he written that? He wasn’t even sure he believed it, and it was far, far away from the tone he wanted his letter to have. But maybe Annabeth needed to hear it, a reassurance that she didn’t have to dedicate all of her time searching for a solution, that she could live, that she _should_ live.

 _Annabeth_ he wrote again.

_Please live the life I have always wished for you. I promised we would never be apart again and look, look how I didn’t keep my word. Annabeth you deserve better than me, you deserve someone that can be at your side, Annabeth I could be stuck here for years and years and I don’t want to-_

Tears welled up in his eyes and he quickly wiped them away with the back of his hand, even if no one was there to see him. He leaned back on the chair until his neck hit the hard wood, almost taking pleasure from the pain it caused.

Percy took a breath, then another and slowly crumpled the sheet of paper in his hand. So many unnamed emotions were swirling through him, pressing from every side until it seemed like his heart was being squeezed out of his chest.

It had just been a tiring day, he repeated to himself, a night of sleep and then in the morning he would feel better and manage to write a letter void of all the nonsense his hand had just written and in which he didn’t believe.

It had been two months since he had arrived in Atlantis.   
He was just tired.

.

“Duke Bythus is two hours away from the Palace,” Amphitrite’s advisor announced, barging into the room and startling Percy out of the comfortable silence him and the goddess had fallen into.

“Reliable sources?” he asked, snapping his head up from the table to stare at the hard set of Amphitrite’s mouth, at the panic flushing on the man’s face.

“Our own scouts, your Grace,” he answered, and Percy swore under his breath.

“Is he coming with an army?” Amphitrite gracefully asked, standing up and clearing non-existent dust from her robes.

“No,” he said, and Percy relaxed slightly. “He seems to be leading only about two dozens of his men. Will say they’re his party, but are surely trained soldiers.”

“Then we’ll be careful,” Percy decided, “tell the servants to prepare the west quarters on the second floor for the Duke, and lead his men to the rooms downstairs. We’ll throw a small feast when they arrive, as a sign of prosperity.”

Amphitrite nodded. “Tell the maids to move the King’s belongings to the empty bedroom upstairs,” she added and seeing that Percy was about to protest she glared at him with one of her famous stares.

“You’re not staying on the second floor next to an ichthyocentaur who wants you dead and that’s final.”

Percy swallowed down his protest. He liked his rooms here, but he wasn’t particularly tied to them as to risk being murdered in his sleep just to keep them for a couple of nights more.

“You should change into more formal clothes,” Amphitrite said, calling Flustra into the room, “nothing too fancy, but we need to show that we’re not weak, nor desperate.”

“And we are?”

Amphitrite stared hard at him, her dark eyes unflinching. 

“Not until you think we are.”

.

While the soldiers escorted Bythus into the throne room, Percy had made sure to make himself be found draped over the throne, skimming through unimportant documents almost lazingly.

As a way to say fuck you, this Palace, this army and this throne have chosen me over you.

In reality though, under his arrogant facade his heart was beating so fast Percy was half sure that at one point it would just tear apart his chest and get out of his expensive robes and into the floor, while the Duke laughed and laughed at his fear and inexperience.

Amphitrite placed a thin hand on his shoulder, giving a small squeeze and stepping back as soon as the doors opened. It had been brief but Percy could not but be grateful for the comfort, even if it came from the goddess who had been isolating him from his friends.

The Duke’s entrance shooed Percy away from his thoughts, and he stared at the ichthyocentaur while he swimmed the long way to the throne without even raising his eyes up to the shimmering sea foam. He had clearly been in the room at least once already, Percy theorized, maybe to swear fealty to his father?

Bythus reached the foot of the throne, and a deep silence fell into the room. All the court was holding its breath: the next few seconds would decide if there were to be an imminent war or not, and Percy didn’t dare to take his eyes off the Duke’s ones.

Was he going to kneel and accept his rule? Or had he come to declare war protected by ancient laws, just to return in a couple of months with thousands in his following?

The coral walls shimmered brightly, reflecting in their reds the golden hue of the ceiling and painting the room in the most wonderful of lights. _Ballads could be sung of this day,_ Percy found himself thinking, his body tense in seeming relaxed.

But from which side would they come?

Interminable seconds passed, then the grating sound of metal touching metal could be heard all through the room, framing the picture of the Duke of the Southern Sea kneeling in front of a seventeen year old boy.

“I believe we may be able to accomplish great things together King Perseus, first of His name. My sword is yours to use. My soldiers are yours to command.”

The silence in the room turned from tense to relieved, and even Percy relaxed slightly.

“Thank you, Duke Bythus,” he started, “my servants will lead you to your rooms. I’m sure you must be tired from the harsh journey. We will discuss on the morrow.”

Another sound of metal grating uncomfortably, a small bow and a gesture with his hand and then the Duke was out of the room and the court returning to their occupations.

“It was too easy,” Percy said, slumping on the hard marble.

“We need to keep our eyes wide open still,” Amphtrite agreed, “he has never been this complacent, not even the first time he had to swear fealty, when Poseidon had just returned victorious and powerful from a war.”

“He must be plotting something then,” Percy concluded, and the goddess gave him a tense smile.

“Of course he is,” she stated, “there are no friends here and nothing is given freely. Maybe he will do nothing now- but he wants you dead and he won’t stop trying. Don’t let his fake friendliness lower your defences, for he will strike then.”

Percy nodded, exhausted, and marched towards his new rooms. Lydos had advised him to keep track of possible escape routes in case he found himself attacked in his quarters and in need of a way out, and Percy thought that doing something practical like this would help him take his mind off the dangerous dinner that awaited him.

 _There are no friends here_ , Amphitrite had said, but Percy had never been good at doing things on his own, and had been lonely too long to find in it any source of comfort.

“Flustra?” he called, and when the boy appeared into his rooms, Percy explained his plan.

“You know the castle better than me,” he started, “I'll take the blueprints and you’ll help me find the fastest routes to the garde, to Amphitrite’s rooms, to the kitchens and to the arena.”

He took a big breath. “Ready?” he then asked, and at the mermen’s nod they started working, ignoring the slow approaching of the evening.

He hoped Amphitrite would do the most of the talking anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys I'm a day late but writing this chapter was like pulling teeth. I just got the worse case of writer's block in the middle of it and it took me days to recover. It happens!  
> Hope you enjoyed this and have a nice Sunday! As always thank you to all the ones who read my ramblings- looking forward to hering your thoughts on this!


	7. Year I, Part VII

“The Duke and the visiting party must not become aware of the poisonings,” Amphitrite’s advisor declared, sitting in Percy’s favourite chair. “He would surely imply you have a hand in that- seeing that they only started a couple of weeks after your arrival.”

“And you don't, right?” Lydos asked, raising one of his short fingers in the air.

Amphitrite glared at him and Percy snorted. “Of course not!” he answered, “why would I even _want_ to poison servants and thus jeopardize my own position and safety of the entire kingdom?”

“The timings are somewhat suspicious,” Lydos justified, “and I don’t think Bythus is behind them. Poison isn’t his style.”

“How do you know so much about him?” Percy finally asked. The question had reigned freely into his mind for days, since the old tutor had taught him the history of the various duchies.

“He has been Duke for fifty years,” Lydos repeated again, and as last time Percy had the feeling that there was something that he was hiding. He looked at Amphitrite for support, but she was staring at her advisor instead.

“The investigation for now has given no results,” the merman continued, “we have excluded poisons from the sea and from the underworld, and we are now testing the toxins of various poisons from the mortal world, but...”

“But?” Percy pressed after the silence had dragged on too long. The merman sighed.

“It seems to have a completely different composition from all the toxins we have analyzed until now. So, or we are considering the wrong thing, or it’s actually a pretty rare and unique poison.”

“And if it’s from land,” Lydos interjected, “as soon as the news gets out you will be blamed, Perseus. As King you might be able to avoid being persecuted, but the people’s opinion of you will be the one of a man who murders his own servants.”

“The consequences would be disastrous,” Amphitrite summarized, “the people might take Bythus’ side still after all, and the throne’s approval will mean nothing when sixteen duchies send their armies here to proclaim him King.”

“Alright,” Percy said in a tight voice, “then what should we do? The meals are already controlled and only the most trusted servants are still allowed anywhere near the kitchens. Should we put up surveillance cameras?”

“Surv- what?” Lydos asked, grasping the armchair in his hand.

“It’s a mortal thing,” Percy explained, “it records what happens in a room and then you can watch it later to see if something that should not have happened has, indeed, happened. They’re usually used to find thieves and such.”

“It’s an idea worth considering,” Amphitrite’s advisor admitted, resting on the comfortable chair Percy was eyeing with envy, “but you must absolutely discuss the problem with your Council first.”

Percy sighed. He _hated_ his old, stuffy councillors who thought they were oh so well-versed and better than him, but he couldn’t say so in front of Lydos. He didn’t trust him at all. As soon as they deigned to leave though, he would express his concerns to Amphitrite: for how much she could still not be overly fond of him, he wouldn’t give him to the wolves. Her only aim was to keep the Kingdom safe and whole until her family returned, and Percy could trust her to do everything in her power to keep faith to it.

The two men didn’t seem to be inclined to leave, and Percy slumped in his second-best chair with a resigned sigh. Then he remembered. He was King.

He stood up. “Thank you gentlemen,” he started, “I have a couple of matters to discuss with Lady Amphitrite, so we will continue this meeting in another moment,” he concluded, gesturing towards the door to them.

The merman and the ichthyocentaur stood up at once and awkwardly bowed to him and to the goddess, glancing to her as a last appeal and then leaving defeated once she made no move to stop them from leaving. 

“I hate them,” he said, stealing back the good chair as soon as the door closed.

Amphitrite chuckled. “The councillors?” she asked, her smile all-knowing.

Percy nodded. “They’re just so… conservative, so tied up with tradition. We’ve met like four or five times and I think in none of them they have listened to a word I said.”

“Given time you might be able to change a few of them without causing a backlash or offending any of their families. But for now… just try to get as many as you can on your side, or passing any kind of law will be a nightmare.”

“I don’t think any of them wants to be on my side,” Percy complained, “and now that Bythus is there I don’t even have time to plan something.”

“Talk to them outside the council room,” Amphitrite advised, “corner them one to one. I’m sure that without all the pressure from their peers they might be more inclined to accept your branch of friendliness.”

Percy nodded again, and before he could ask anything else the goddess had squeezed his shoulder again and left the room in a swirl of yellow robes.

.

The dinner with the Duke the following evening was stuffy and uncomfortable.

Amphitrite tried to make polite conversation, but Bythus rebuffed her every attempt, answering with short sentences and curt words only barely appropriate.  
It was clear that he resented having to play the good subject, so clear that Percy realized that whatever was the Duke’s plan, he wasn’t the mastermind behind it. But whose bidding was he playing with? Apart from Percy and the former Queen there was no one who outranked him in the entire kingdom, which means he had no logical reason to obey someone else.

“I am disappointed I wasn’t able to meet your family on this _friendly_ occasion, Duke Bythus,” Percy said, waving at a servant to clear the plates away, “is there a reason they were unable to make the journey?”

He could see from the corner of his eye that the goddess was staring at him with a tight expression. _Behave_ , her gaze ordered, but Percy refused to take his eyes off the Duke, who calmly folded his napkin before answering.

“My wife had other obligations to attend to,” he stated, not offering any kind of ulterior information. Would it be disastrous if Percy pushed for more? He was not _this_ patient.

“Well,” he answered, voice silky, “I assume she shall be free of her obligations for my Coronation in two months' time,” he concluded, smiling.

Bythus was harsh but he wasn’t a fool and could recognize an order when it was given to him.

“Of course Your Majesty,” he answered, his tone not as mild as Percy would have preferred it, but he would make do.

Dessert arrived shortly after, and then the dinner finally came to an end and Percy holed himself up in his new room that, albeit bigger and better decorated, had been set up exactly like the first he had been given.

Flustra joined him soon after and started working on disentangling the careful braids he had made before: Percy’s hair were now long enough that they bounced on his shoulders, and he had taken to style them in many of the most complex Atlantian’s styles thanks to his manservant expert fingers.

Percy closed his eyes, enjoying the methodical movement and the merman’s soft humming.

“Bad day?” he asked, and Percy snorted.

“Aren’t they all?” he asked, and Flustra chuckled slightly.

“At least you’re almost on par with history,” he tried to comfort him, “and I think last time you managed the opening dance without itch.”

“Amphitrite was doing all the work with that one,” he admitted without shame, “but I don’t think I’ll dance it with her on my Coronation.”

Flustra’s hands stilled for a second, then they resumed.

“Ah no?” he asked, his tone carefully controlled, “and who with?”

Percy shrugged, not knowing what to make of the boy's behaviour. Was he afraid that he would make a fool of himself in front of his most important subjects?

“I guess I’ll find out,” he answered, thinking of the way Amphitrite had surely already planned everything in minimal detail. Lydos had not failed to instruct him on _all_ of his duties as King, and he had reacted harshly to them the first time around. A part of him still wished for rebellion, for refusal- but would he truly be willing to sacrifice a kingdom to his desires?

He thought of home, of permanency. He thought about his mother when he was lying in his bed at night, wishing for sleep that wouldn't come. He thought about her with tenderness, and about his friends with affection.

And when he thought about Annabeth, the only feeling that pervaded him was an intense sense of loss, and longing for something long lost. She had awaited him for nine months, never losing hope: and here he was, only two months and half away and already ready to move on.

Had he not loved her? He had fallen into Tartarus for her. He had _killed_ for her, and it had tore a hole into their relationship, it had lacerated the heavy set trust between them.

Percy swallowed down the harsh realization, and cried silently through the night.

Maybe good things weren’t supposed to happen to him, the unwanted son, the child cursed before he was even born.

Maybe he had just never done anything to deserve them at all.

.

Percy approached the councillor from the Arctic Ocean the following morning.  
He had been the most silent during meetings, and on a couple of occasions Percy believed to have seen him sneer at the other councillor’s proposal. He had never stood up against them though, which wasn’t ideal: it meant that or he knew he wasn’t strong enough, or that he just didn’t have the support to be listened to, and so even if in agreement with the king, he wouldn’t push for his ideas.

Percy believed it to be a perfect starting point: an ally is still better than none, and if he fucked up and the men started hating him even more it wouldn’t be a great disaster.

He found Lord Damali in the library, surrounded by great tomes: unsurprising considering he was basically the ancient version of a minister of education, spending his days visiting the most prominent academies of the kingdom and battling for funds.

“Good morning,” Percy saluted when he realized that the merman hadn’t heard him come in, and the man raised his head with a scowl on his face, before realizing that he was in front of his King.

“Your Majesty,” he said hurryingly, standing up at once and slightly bowing his head. A prominent start, in Percy’s opinion.

He smiled, and sat down in front of the worried councilor.

“The atmosphere in my Council is tense,” he started, “but I have noted that you refrain from speaking your own mind. Have you received threats?” he asked without preamble, knowing full well that he hadn’t.

“Of course not my Lord,” Damali brusquely answered, “it is my opinion that it will just take a while for them to be able to accept you as their monarch. We have been governed by your father for very long, you know and-”

“I am perfectly aware that Poseidon has been in power for a long time, yes,” Percy interjected, “and curious about your saying that it would take _them_ a while. Does it mean that you have already come to terms with my rule?”

Damali winced, clearly not having expected the blunt question. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“I believe of course that with the correct advice you will be able to rule this kingdom in prosperity,” he answered, with one hand tightly gripping one of his books and the other close to his side. Was he expecting a fight?

Percy would hardly give it to him, but the discussion wasn’t over yet.

“So,” Percy dragged on, “you would be… able to assist in my receiving of this correct advice you speak about, I believe. Maybe even in the next session?”

Damali lowered his eyes to the desk. “Of course, your Grace”, he answered.

Percy smiled, and swam back towards the door to the library.

“I await hearing your opinion with great anticipation,” he said, and then he was out.

.

Duke Bythus sat on the green padded sofa of the veranda, lazingly drinking one the many undersea typical beverages.

Non-alcoholic, Percy had unfortunately discovered.

Amphitrite sat in front of him, pretending to drink the same thing and turning the pages of the book in her lap every now and then. Percy had been supposed to be with them, but he wasn't really looking forward to an afternoon of awkwardness, so he had told the goddess to excuse him and had instead closed himself in the study.  
But after about half an hour, his curiosity had taken the best of him and so here he was, basically spying on a meeting he had been invited to.

"I have heard the most peculiar rumour here," the Duke started with an air of carelessness, "some believe a _sickness_ is unknowingly spreading in the Palace. A very fatal one, at that."

Amphitrite was good at her job, Percy had to give her that, because she didn't react to his words in any way, and barely raised her eyes.

"There are many people in close quarters one to another, and we have many delegates from all over the seas. It is likely that some of them may be sick," she answered, immediately returning to her book.

Bythus leaned forward in his seat, and opened his mouth to talk again.

Amphitrite was quicker however, and raised her head to smile at him condescendingly.

"However, as much as your concern for your men is heartwarming, you must not be worried my Lord," she continued, "as you are aware we have a most equipped infirmary," she smirked.

The Duke seemed taken aback and Percy wondered on which occasion he had had to visit the infirmary. A visit gone wrong? A battle? A fight with his father?

"Of course," Bythus swiftly answered, "as it is an unknown illness, I fear what it would do to my people, that's all," he pressed on, "and as such I would like my doctor to be informed of its symptoms and of which cures have been tried. I wouldn't want my court to be decimated after all."

Amphitrite remained impassable. "The healers are very busy," she answered in what Percy knew was a strategy to take a few more time to think of an appropriate response, "but please, do send your doctor to them. They might be able to find a few hours to explain what we have understood until now," she smiled, "they have been in contact with the sick everyday after all, so I am sure they know best."

The meaning of the goddess' words did not pass above his head, Percy noted, by the way the Duke sat back in his chair almost ungracefully.

Bythus might believe that the unknown illness was a cover up for something- but would he risk his people by sending his doctors between the ones who had been with the victims, and then take them back to the Southern Sea?

Amphitrite was betting on the fact that his suspicion would be weaker than his wish to not put his family in danger, but from the stories he had been told about the man Percy wasn't so sure it would work.

And what if Amphitrite hadn't spoken to the Palace's doctors and was just bluffing?

He quickly and silently came out of his hiding spot, and used the servant's corridors to arrive to the infirmary unseen, where he asked to talk with the doctor in charge.

"Are you the one who… analyzed the bodies of the recently deceased in this Palace?"

Percy asked, not wanting to give anything up in case the doctor knew nothing about the poisonings.

"Yes your Majesty," she answered, slightly bowing her head, and Percy's body relaxed a bit.

"You are aware then, that they have died of a rare and unknown illness, of which many of ours are sick at the moment"

The doctor looked at him with a perplexed expression, and opened her mouth to disagree. Then, seemingly changing her mind, she nodded.

Percy smiled, hoping that the doctor would soon overcome her confusion.

"The visiting Duke's healers might wish to come here to know more about it," he started, "I believe it would be wise to build a sickroom so to isolate the patients and make sure the foreign doctors do not get ill."

"The patients my Lord?" she asked, her brows furrowed.

Percy slumped into his chair. He may need to be a bit more direct than he thought.

He stared at her hard.

"Are you aware of the delicacy of the situation?" He asked, and smiled as the way realization appeared in her eyes.

"Of course your Majesty," she answered with half a smirk, "we will isolate the patients immediately and warn all the doctors that they might be contagious. We have neglected to comply a list of the sickness' symptoms, but we shall do it at once. It's not something the Duke would ever wish to take South with him, after all."

Percy expressed his thanks, and returned to his rooms passing first from the gardens and then from the library, checking his surroundings to see if he had been followed.

Amphitrite and Bythus were probably still in the veranda, but Percy had risked enough by listening to them before and couldn't afford to do it again.

He would just have to trust that she would tell him what had been said afterwards, that his plan in the infirmary had worked and that the next council session would be easier, with at least one ally.

There were many matters to discuss, since Lydos insisted the councillors needed to know about the poisonings. A plan Percy thought would backfire, but he knew that he didn't really have the experience and the knowledge to dispute him.

So he would have to listen and follow their advice, hoping that Flustra was wrong and that they might actually _care_ about the kingdom.

A dangerous bet, and one he could not afford to fail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many things happening this chapter... Let me know what you think and if you enjoyed it! The plot will move forward soon...
> 
> In the meantime, I am leaving for a two weeks holiday, so next update will be in three weeks time instead of two. Sorry about it but I need time to make it good!


	8. Year I - Part VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My muse told me to write a chapter full of angst, so I did. Be prepared.

The following weeks passed quickly, between banquets and meetings with various nobles from all over the Kingdom. Bythus’ healers visited the fake sickroom and returned to him with parchments upon parchments of contagious and invented symptoms, until the Duke excused himself from the Palace expressing concern for a large monster hunting in his duchy, leaving Atlantis in great hurry. 

Percy had never been more pleased.

Amphitrite too, was content with how the situation had developed, but she didn’t trust Bythus’ quick departure in the same way she had been perplexed by his earlier compliance in swearing fealty to the new king: it seemed too much of a cover up and a distraction from a plot that was progressing unnoticed by her eyes.

With the Coronation about two weeks away then, the Palace was hectic with the preparations: all the invites had already been sent and in a few days the first guests would start to arrive and expect all their needs to be catered for, the afternoon activities already planned and the evening entertainment always different and new.

Percy did not envy the Palace staff at all, nor Amphitrite who had to approve of everything and suggest new things when no one else could come up with new ideas.  


His workload though, wasn’t much lighter: between training with the soldiers and discussing with the generals with the aim of making them like him, he had to learn the steps of dozens of dances, the customs of the various duchies and which of them he had to ingratiate.

If that wasn’t enough, the reunions with the Council weren’t going much better even with Lord Damali’s silent support. Lord Nilmus never lost any time in belittling every single one of his achievements, comparing how much it took to him to how much it took to his father, calling most of his ideas for a reform of society ridiculous and impossible to apply.

And the worst thing of that was that none of the other councillors ever went against him, so much that Percy was truly convincing himself that he was a terrible ruler and that he would never amount to anything or bring any real change.

That was the mood Amphitrite found him in, returning from one of her decorating sessions of the gardens while he was huddled on the floor of his study, eyes unmoving from the page of the book lazily set on his legs.

“Everything's coming up nicely,” she started, sitting elegantly on the green padded chair, “the guest’s quarters have almost all been prepared, the gardens have been taken care of and we only have a couple of days of activities to plan.”

“That’s good,” Percy forced himself to say, the words sounding distant even to his own ears.

Amphitrite sighed and Percy spared a glance at her, entranced by the way the candlelight reflected on her dark skin.

“I know it’s difficult, Perseus. But you need to try. Your father-”

“I am not my father!” Percy said, violently slamming the book on the floor. “I am not him, I’m not as good as he was and I will never be! Is that what you wanted to say too? Well I know it already!”

Percy was half-screaming by that point, but the goddess didn’t move a muscle.

“What I meant,” she resumed, never taking her eyes off Percy’s fatigued expression, “is that your father had the privilege of never having to rule alone. He could share the burden.”

Percy stared at her. “You’re still here,” he said, not grasping her point.

“But I am not Queen. I don’t have the powers nor liberties I once had. Poseidon was never alone while you-”

A new surge of fury passed through him, thinking of Hermes’ note, of the way _she_ had isolated him from all of his friends, from his mother and the outside world.

“You made me alone!” he screamed, getting up from the floor, “do you think I don’t know? That all my letters can’t pass through the Palace’s borders and that _you_ are behind it?”

He was breathing hard now, looking at the goddess and almost pleadingly asking for her to deny his accusation, for someone else to have been responsible for his four months of isolation.

But the goddess didn’t even blink, nor lowered her eyes. “What good would it have done to you?” she asked.

“What good-”

“It would only have prolonged your suffering,” she interrupted, voice steady and unwavering, “you can’t go to them. They can’t come here. You needed to be focused on learning how to be a king and to do so you couldn’t spend your days thinking of ways to see them again.”

“And spending my days thinking they hated me was better instead?” Percy asked. Every will to fight was being drained out of him and he felt exhausted, and uncaring. He had decided to wait until after the Coronation to confront her on the subject, but as always his plan hadn’t worked out as he would have wished it to.

Amphitrite winced. “That wasn’t my aim,” she said, almost apologetic, “I believed your first conclusion would be that someone was intercepting your mail or a problem in Hermes’ aim, not the thought that the friends you went to war with had suddenly decided not to care about you anymore.”

Percy swallowed, and felt tears pickling at the corners of his eyes. Damn, she was right. Why had his first thought been that his friends had abandoned him? That _Annabeth_ had done so?

_Because you would deserve it_ , his brain answered.

He swallowed again. “I have to go,” he muttered, and almost ran to the door trying to hide his pained expression from the goddess’ vigilant eyes.

“Perseus wait,” she called, standing up from the chair and moving towards the door too.

Percy didn’t.

.

Flustra braided his hair with the easiness of a movement repeated a million times, his surprisingly deep humming almost rocking him to sleep. The days had become so exhausting, and he felt _old_. Being King of Atlantis wasn’t and had never been a job for mortals, and he was finding that out the hard way.

“Do you think I should try to contact my friends again?” Percy asked, closing his eyes and leaning back against the merman’s lean torso.

“I am sure they are very worried about you,” the boy answered, “and from what you've told me about your mother, it would seem she does care about you. A lot.”

“So I should write again,” Percy sighed, blinking in the soft and warm light.

Flustra secured the braids with an elegant, deep blue pin and stepped back, not quite knowing what to do with his hands.

“You should just do what you feel like,” he tentatively answered.

Percy shook his head, turning to look at the young boy. “There are obligations I have, towards other people. They say no man’s an island.”

“But the other people in your life are supposed to make you feel better,” Flustra said coming closer to him, “and yet when you talk of them there is only sadness in you.”

How could he explain to the merman the deep, aching wound that had substituted his heart? His childhood had been filled with loneliness and boys who asked him to be their friend only to mock him when he accepted. He had never known friendship before then, and while he had still screamed with need, now that he knew what it was like to have other people around it was even worse.

“I just miss them,” he ended up saying, the closest thing to the truth he could admit out loud.

Flustra came even closer and hesitantly grasped Percy’s fingers in his hand, worn by years of labour. Percy didn’t move, and the merman stepped forward again.

“What do you miss about them?” he asked with a soft voice, and Percy closed his eyes again and let himself soak in the warmth of the light, in the reassuring weight on his hand.

“We… we did many things together. I could share everything with them. And Annabeth… I loved- I love her. She’s the reason I survived the quests, and the wars. She’s just…”

Flustra sighed, but he didn’t move away. “Maybe she can come visit, when the situation has calmed down. Even mortals have come here a couple of times, and you are King. She could live here if you so wished.”

Percy swallowed. “She deserves better,” he whispered, and admitting it out loud felt like it was becoming reality just beneath his eyes. “I don’t know how long I’ll have to stay here. What if it’s years? She can’t spend her life waiting for me. It’s not right of me to ask her that.”

Flustra gently let go of his hand, and grasped his chin between two of his fingers instead, staring at him with such an intensity that Percy was forced to open his eyes.

He couldn’t pretend not to know what Flustra was doing anymore. He had ignored his first, light touches because he didn’t know how to deal with them. The merman was a servant, and him the King: it wasn’t fair, it could never be appropriate for them to have any kind of relationship above the grade of content companionship. And yet his hands were soft, and warm and all of his body had missed the casual intimacy of staying with people he loved.

“Relax,” Flustra chuckled, leaning forward, and Percy closed his eyes again “I can hear you thinking from here,” he whispered above his nose, and slowly, painstakingly gently, he pressed his lips to Percy’s forehead with the lightest touch he had ever felt.

Then he moved back again, and softly wiped a couple of tears from Percy’ cheeks. He hadn’t even noticed he had started crying.

“Think about it,” he whispered, and when Percy felt brave enough to open his eyes again, he was alone in his room, the light still there but the warmth all gone.

.

_Dear mom,_

he wrote that evening, with his skin still tingling and shivering in a room that had never felt colder,

_I miss you. I miss you so much.  
Sorry for disappearing again. Many things are happening and it’s just difficult to remember that there is an entire world outside of these walls.  
Mom, please, make sure Annabeth’s okay. Give her the strength to move on. I- I might not come back. Please tell her it’s okay to live her life.  
Mom I am looking for affection where I shouldn’t. Please love me still, but let her hate me if she must. I want her to live. I want her to live happily.  
Yours,  
Percy_

.

He burned the letter in a fire that had nothing holy.  
The flames ate it greedily.  
.

It took him three days to gather the courage to speak to Amphitrite again, and two other servants ended up poisoned in the meantime.

“They were trusted and allowed into the kitchens,” she was saying to her advisor when he stepped into the room, “this looks more and more as a ploy to discredit the king, or to eliminate all his allies.”

“Is it not possible for it to truly be a sickness?”, the merman asked, and Amphitrite shook her head.

“It’s definitely poison,” she said, noting that Percy had come into the room and gesturing at him to sit down, “unknown and from land. Our emissaries are now trying to find how the mortals call it, but their libraries are scattered and unorganized.”

Percy didn’t comment, and Amphitrite sighed. “That will be all for now,” she said to the merman. He bowed to the both of them, first to the goddess even if it was against protocol, and then he scattered away.

Amphitrite turned towards him. “If you are here to inquire about the wards against your mail, yes they have not been removed. I believe it would be counterproductive.”

“I need to speak to my girlfriend,” Percy insisted, “and I will, whether you allow it or not. I am just here to inform you it will happen.”

“You can’t leave the Palace,” Amphitrite hastily answered, “it’s too dangerous. Have you learned nothing in all the months you’ve been here?”

Percy gritted his teeth, and the goddess pressed “Why now then?”

He opened his mouth to answer, and then closed it again. Could he tell her the truth or would she use it against him? _She already saw you at your worst, he thought, and she already said you need to get married._

“If I stay here for years...” he finally said, “I don’t want her to waste her life waiting for a me that will never be the one she last saw. I… I am not the boy that first came here.”

Amphitrite stayed silent, her dark gaze seemingly looking straight into him. “You still love her,” she said, her voice blank of emotion.

Percy hesitated. “Yes,” he said, and the ammission healed something in the mess that had become of his heart. “But love also means wanting the best for the other person- and I’m not that.”

“So you’re choosing for her,” she deadpanned, and Percy frustratingly slammed himself into a sofa.

“You told me I needed to get married and have heirs for the throne. Why aren’t you happy about this? You knew Annabeth was an obstacle to this plan of yours.”

The goddess shrugged. “Not really,” she answered, “I was proposing a marriage of convenience, of merely political purposes. There was no reason you would have had to give up your girlfriend. Wives from noble families hardly expect fidelity from their husbands.”

Anger rushed through him again, and he felt the water around him respond to it, the currents reading themselves to be pressed and twisted.

“I don’t-” he started, “I’m not like that,” he choked, “I couldn’t.”

He forced himself to take a big breath, and met the goddess’ hard gaze. There must have been something in his expression, because her eyes softened immediately.

“There is a small cave, close to Long Island. It’s above the sea, but part of your domain. Meet her there, do not stay longer than an hour and do not tell _anyone_ where and when you go. Clear?”

Percy nodded, feeling both relief and dread at the same time. Would he be able to find the right words? Would he break her heart? A part of him wished she would tell him that she had already moved on, but he couldn’t bring himself to even believe it.  
Athena was correct when she had advised him to stay away from her daughter: he had only caused her harm, and placed her in risky situations.

The rustle of fabrics of Amphitrite long dress snapped him out of his thoughts, and when he raised his head again the goddess was sitting right in front of him.

“I think I should go to the Winter’s Council at your place,” she stated, “you are still mortal and the other gods won’t care to remember it when they’re arguing.”

Percy nodded again, not quite trusting himself to speak. “Are there particular topics you would like to bring to their attention?” she asked, “you have a considerably larger influence now that you are King of two thirds of the world.”

“I want the demigods to be fine,” he muttered, and Amphitrite clasped her hands on her thighs, and sighed.

“And about the sea?”

“Tell Zeus to stop crashing airplanes when their tanks are full,” he answered, “the petrol is polluting the water. If he refuses, tell him I’ll send him the bills for all the doctors needed after the fishes have been injured by the plane’s parts crashing through their roofs.”

Amphitrite smiled. “I’ll also try to ingratiate myself to Ares,” she added, “who knows if we’ll have to go to war soon.”

Percy felt like they were already in the middle of it, but he said nothing.

.

_Annabeth,  
meet me in the place we discovered last summer, at dawn. Be careful, you might be followed. Please come and-_

_don’t hate me,_ he wanted to write, but he would survive her hate. He would accept it, if it meant she could live freely the rest of her life.

_-and bring no one else with you._

He sent the letter, without signing it. Annabeth would know it came from him, but he wanted the possibility of denying having ever written anything. Who knows what story his councillors would wave out of a meeting with a land demigod.

In the morning, he dressed with the plainest clothes he owned and pulled a thick and worn cloak above his head, before silently moving through the servants’ corridors and passing through the barracks before leaving the Palace.

When he arrived in the little cave the sun was barely shining above the water, but Annabeth was already there. And she looked so _beautiful,_ her golden hair bouncing upon her shoulders, her face breaking in a big smile as soon as she set her eyes on him.

“Percy!” she yelled, and threw herself at him, tightening her arms around her neck when he hugged her so tightly that he raised her from the ground.

She still smelled like lemons, like home, like family.

Percy swallowed. “Annabeth,” he started, putting her down, “Annabeth,” he repeated, his voice breaking.

She took a step back. “What happened to you?” she asked, staring at him, “you seem…”

“I am King now,” he answered, “a king in the middle of a soon to be civil war.”

He could see the wheels turning inside Annabeth’s head, and stepped closer to her.

“I might never be able to come back,” he admitted, tears pickling at the corners of his eyes, “you deserve better.”

Annabeth swallowed, and never looked away from his eyes. “I-” she started, a nervous laugh building up in her stomach, “I knew why we were meeting as soon as I opened your note. But I couldn’t… couldn’t bring myself to truly believe it.”

“I’m-”

“Don’t say sorry,” she interrupted, “Percy. Oh Percy, come here,” she said looking at his tear-stained face, and hugged him tightly while he trembled in her arms. He had prepared himself to be the one who needed to give comfort, but apparently she was stronger than he was.

“I love you,” she murmured, “and you love me. But we can’t be together,” she said, her voice breaking too, “not because I deserve better. Not because we’re too far apart. Not because you’re King.”

“Why then?” Percy cried in her shirt, “why couldn’t we just be happy?”

“There are many kinds of love,” she whispered in his ear, “I think Tartarus changed us, in different ways. I had time to think and- things weren’t going fine even before you disappeared.”

“We argued less when we were just friends,” Percy agreed, “but you waited nine months for me and I-”

“And you didn’t need to”

Percy swallowed. “So we...broke up?”

“Yes, Seaweed Brain. But you’re still my best friend”

“So you don’t- hate me?” he asked in a small voice, and she caressed his cheeks gently.

“You deserve nothing but good things, Percy. And I- I do too. We’re good to each other, but not like this. Like this we only…”

“Hurt each other more,” he concluded for her, and she nodded.

Percy wiped the tears from her face. “We would have stayed together if I hadn’t left,” he added.

“And after a couple of months we would have been miserable but too stubborn to ever give up.”

Percy chuckled. “You’re my best friend too,” he said, “please don’t forget it. Don’t forget me,” he murmured, and Annabeth shook her head.

“Never,” she answered, and tightened her hold on his hand, before letting go and stepping back.

The sun was almost out of the water. He would have to leave soon.

“Tell my mother I love her,” he asked, “tell the others I miss them, and think of them often. Stop looking for a way to break the curse. There isn’t one.”

Annabeth opened her mouth to protest, but Percy stopped her.

“Just- just stay safe. Try to be happy. I’ll do my best to- visit again.”

Annabeth was crying again, and Percy too felt hot tears sliding down his cheeks.

The sun was all the way out of the sea.

Percy gave Annabeth a small smile, and stepped back into the water before she could return it.

.

Annabeth sobbed the rest of the day, comforted by Sally’s strong arms and soft words.

Percy cried silently, muffling the sobs in his arm while pretending to be studying, alone in his room.

It would be a hard day.  
It would be a hard life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... I can say nothing more than I'm sorry. All this angst just came out from me.  
> I can't say I'm really used to writing like this so I would love to hear what you thought of it, good or bad that it was! I always considered Percy and Annabeth's relationship to be rock-solid, so this is far, far away from everything I ever read.
> 
> On an happier note, I just got accepted into my top-choice medical school, so now I'll be busier than ever! I have no intention of abandoning this story, so if you I don't update regularly just put all my studying at fault.


	9. Year I - Part IX

Percy’s Coronation robes were of a deep, rich green, slightly lighter than the evergreen leaves of a spruce. Every inch of them was embroidered with a thin thread of gold that drew an intricate sequence of corals, tridents and shells all around his shoulders, his torso, his legs. They were heavy, made of layer upon layer of soft fabric and gold, and they fit him perfectly, closing around his body like a second skin.

He had been hesitant at first, when the tailor had made him try them on the first time. They were _so much,_ so much more than he was used to, and probably one of the most expensive he would ever wear. If he had thought he looked sharp with a suit during homecoming, he was a fool. _This_ was what he had been born to be wearing.

The tailor, the greenish mermaid who had made his third task attire, led him in front of a mirror and squared him up and down.

“Wonderful,” she commented, “but you still haven’t seen the best part.”

Percy looked at her with a curious expression. What could there be to add? He already felt overdressed, and had needed constant reassurance that everyone was going to be dressed to the nines, and that as the king he just couldn't not be the best dressed.

The mermaid came closer to him, and slowly draped a thick, heavy cape on his shoulders, clasping it on his collarbones with a solid gold clip. As the robes underneath, it was skillfully embroidered, with pearls and precious stones positioned in between the gold, reflecting the light and making it impossible for other people to look at anything else but him.

Unlike the robes however the cape had nothing of green and the cloth was the deepest shade of royal purple he had ever seen. It should have clashed with the green- two such rich colours together would have never been worn on the mortal world, but here in Atlantis the bluish light of the water harmonized them in the best of ways.

_I wish Annabeth could see me in this,_ was Percy’s first thought after looking at himself in the mirror. His second was the sudden and desperate realization that in a couple of hours he would be crowned King of the Seven Seas.

Just that was enough to make his legs tremble, but he also saw the following weeks of celebration as his worst enemy. He’d have to make allies and-

“All set up, your Majesty,” the tailor interrupted, and Percy wiped invisible crinkles on his trousers, and took a big breath.

“Is it time to go?” he asked the guard at the door, and the ichthyocentaur nodded.

“Everyone is already in the hall. The orchestra will start soon, and then we will escort you to the entrance.”

Percy smiled at the guard, appreciating the fact that he had tried to calm him down by repeating the steps of the plan, which Amphitrite had drilled into him in the past weeks.

He thanked the tailor for her hard work, just to pass the time waiting for the music to start, and she beamed up at him, going on and on about how it was such an honour to work for the Palace and the Royal Family and…

A faint melody started to be heard coming from the thick walls, and Percy swallowed down his agitation and clasped his sweaty hands together. The guard opened the door, and sooner than he could think about what was happening, they were already outside and walking towards the hall, stopping in front of the tall, wooden door.

He knew what it was awaiting inside, and that helped calm him down a bit. There would be rows and rows of the most noble and powerful families in the kingdom, and he’d pass in between them until he reached the throne. He could do that. Totally.

He took a big breath, and signaled at the guards to open the door, then he stepped inside.

The music was much more intense than it had been, seemingly coming from every corner in the room, while the golden sea foam of the ceiling made all the guests’ jewels shine even more.

_Don’t look around, focus on walking, focus on walking,_ he repeated in his head, while putting every step in front of the other with a certainty he didn’t have. He felt everyone’s eyes on him, judging and evaluating, and he had never been more self-conscious about his mortality until then.

There were powerful people there, old nobles and old names, and he was just a boy from Manhattan. How could he lead them?

The rows of seats ended before Percy was ready for them to, and he felt Amphitrite’s reassuring presence close to his back. With the only thought in mind that she’d kill him if he fucked it up, he approached the marble throne as he had done three months prior for the third task.

This time though, he had an audience, and not a kind one.

So Percy took a big breath, and with his legs shaking under the weight of heavy robes and a kingdom, he knelt before Atlantis’ throne, feeling the ancient power of the sea run through his veins in an uncoordinated dance.

His blood seemed to start boiling, moving through him at an impossible pace. It hurt, it hurt like few things had done until then, but Percy forced himself to remain unmoving, and to just let the power flow in him, without trying to hold it down. It soon stopped being painful, but Percy could tell that it was still there, just waiting, just listening.

_You are the sea now_ , it whispered, _and the sea is you_.

_Will you accept the responsibility of it?_ , it asked, and Percy could do nothing but give his consent.

Yes, he murmured, not knowing if he had said it loud enough for anyone to hear him.

A crown of gold and emeralds was placed on his head, and Percy didn’t even feel the weight of it, too busy listening to the people, to _his_ people chanting his name and calling for his health to be preserved.

Long live the king. Long live the king, they sang, and it gave Percy enough strength and enough courage to stand up and face the crowd. Amphitrite was in the first row, her glittering white and gold dress flowing around her while she chanted with the others and stared proudly at him.

Her mesmerizing smile would be the only thing he’d end up remembering of the whole ceremony.

.

Once all the party had moved to the lavishly decorated ballroom, food started to be served and Percy tried not to show how nervous he was about the whole thing. Kitchen servants kept _dying_ and the ones who had been sent to the surface to investigate hadn’t reported back at all in the last three days, when before they had done so every morning.

Amphitrite had tried to keep him focused only on the Coronation, but he had been forced to explain the situation to his councillors, and they hadn’t been nearly as kind, or understanding. As predicted they had of course accused him of organizing the whole thing, of trying to sabotage the monarchy, of it being a ploy to discredit Bythus. The representative of the Indian Ocean, who occupied himself with matters of social health, had also called him “the worst thing to happen to the kingdom in the last four thousand years”, and Percy had cried his heart out after that one.

He had been assured then by the goddess’ advisor that they were sworn to secrecy in such matters, but the threat of it possibly coming out still haunted him. What would it mean for the Kingdom if an old noble or a powerful heir was to die at his coronation?

War, most likely. It seemed to be an inevitable outcome of every issue he was faced with.

“Your Majesty,” a young ichthyocentaur interrupted his thoughts, “may I present to you the Count of Fladen Ground and his wife, the youngest sister of the Duke of the Northern Sea”

He gestured to two poshly dressed merpeople, who bowed respectfully to him.

Percy smiled, almost genuinely: they looked like kind people, but he was hesitant in giving too much confidence to anybody. Amphitrite had told him that the Duke of the Northern Sea was a powerful ally to have though, and his most respected vassals were an acceptable place to start ingratiating himself.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he started with a warm tone, looking at the Count, “I am a great admirer of your work, especially your theories on the education of mercentaurs,” he smiled, and the Count’s expression turned interested, but also a bit wary. 

Percy got the message: it wasn’t the right time to discuss it. “Let's celebrate today, and save the discussion for later,” Percy suggested then, and the merman nodded, pleased.

“My lady, the tales of your beauty proceed you,” he then said addressing the Countess, taking her right hand in his as he had been told to do, even if she was at least thirty years his senior and looking desperately plain even in her lavish dress.

She laughed, while her husband tried to force his smile back, “Always the charmers, you and your father both,” she said still smiling, “I know I am no beauty, but I still gave my husband seven healthy children, and a working mind”

“And I shall cherish you for that forever,” the Count answered, taking her hand and mimicking Percy’s earlier gesture. It was his time to laugh now, taking three glasses from one of the servants and starting a pleasant small talk with them.

It was surprisingly enjoyable, even if Percy could feel Amphitrite’s eyes on him from across the room, where he had seen her talk with the heir to the duchy of the Mediterrean Sea, the third most powerful after the Southern and the Northern.

“I think you would get along with my brother,” the Countess interjected when it was time for him to move on with the introductions, “my nephew is here in his stead right now, but I shall speak greatly of you on my return,” she promised, and Percy inclined his head in salute as they swam away into the dances.

“Your Majesty!” another voice rang from behind him, and he turned to find himself face to face with a brightly-red dressed ichthyocentaur, his skin the same green as olives.

“He’s the Duke of the Arabian Sea,” the man who had introduced the Counts whispered, and Percy nodded gratefully, smiling at the Duke and his young son.

“Pleased to meet you, Your Grace,” Percy started, inclining his head forward while the ichthyocentaur bowed, “is he your young heir I’ve heard loads about?”

The Duke beamed, pressing his son closer to his legs. “My pride and joy!” he exclaimed, loudly enough that the closer guests shot him disapproving glares. Percy chuckled slightly, and the duke grimaced, stepping closer to the king than it was appropriate.

“I must admit, Your Majesty, that I am not yet good at this protocol stuff you know,” he said with a cospiratory glance, “as the sixth son of the late Duke I was never expected to inherit anything but…” he shrugged.

“I’m sorry about the loss of your brothers”, Percy answered, recalling the fact that he had studied some kind of revolt happening in the Arabian duchy that had killed most of the ducal family, “let me reassure you that your not following protocol is just… _barely_ noticeable.”

Percy was sure that Amphitrite would be proud of him at the end of the night, because he had never been this diplomatic in his entire life, not even in the Senatus: the Duke was a disaster, starting from having brought his two years old son to a formal reception and arriving to his tentative to _pat_ the King on the shoulder. 

He had been Duke for four years, and had learned a quarter of what Percy had in five months: he couldn’t deny that the knowledge that he could have done worse did raise his spirits of quite a bit, and the rest of the evening passed not pleasantly and not even quickly, but it was more tolerable than it had been, and Percy knew that sometimes you just have to be grateful for the little things.

.

The following morning started for Percy with a terrible headache.

He had retired some time after midnight, using his never-ending work and his human nature as an excuse to Amphitrite, the only one who probably even noticed he was gone or at least the only one who dared to question him about his departure. He had hoped that the party would have quieted down by the time he awoke again, but apparently the goddess’ claims that celebrations would last for _weeks_ , weren’t exaggerated.

He groaned into his pillow, burying himself further into the covers, wishing and failing to fall asleep again. He still could hear the music from the day before in his ears, the slow drums and the acute voices, the faint tremble of the water where the sound had passed. 

A soft knock at the door quieted a bit his thoughts, and Percy quickly rose to a sitting position when Flustra entered the room.

He bowed, as protocol dictated, but there was a smirk on his face that even the Duke of the Arabian Sea would have deemed inappropriate.

“How were the dances?” he asked, moving towards the heavy curtains, “did Amphitrite find you a wife yet?”

Percy chuckled, unsure on what his position with the boy was after his breakdown two weeks prior. Flustra had given him space, maintaining a cheerful demeanor and friendly expressions, without implying that something more Percy wasn’t even sure he wanted.

“I think that will take quite a long time,” he finally answered, passing a hand through his already too wild hair, “you know it’s going to be political, most of all. I don’t think she’ll value much whether we’ve met each other or not.” 

Flustra let go of the curtains, and came closer to Percy’s bed, who forced himself to stay still. _This is inappropriate_ , his brain was screaming at him, _you must end this now._

“Don’t you ever wish you could stay with someone you...?” he gestured around, his expression turning insecure.

Percy thought of Annabeth, of how glorious those first weeks with her had been, before all had turned to shit again. He had loved her, but it hadn’t been immediate. Maybe it meant that one day he could come to love someone else, maybe a person more fit for him that even Annabeth was.

No. Scratch that. How had he come to think like this?

“Is everything alright?” Flustra asked, stepping closer, but Percy could not even find the words to answer him, as if all the oxygen in the ocean had suddenly disappeared.

When he had first come to Atlantis he would have never accepted an arranged marriage. He would have _never_ broken up with Annabeth. Had he been manipulated into Amphitrite’s idea of what a King ought to be? But Annabeth had said that their break up had been the best option. How long would they have kept hurting each other if he hadn’t left?

“Percy you need to breathe,” Flustra whispered somewhere around him, his voice sounding far away. “Come on,” and then there was something cold on his cheeks, keeping his head upright and were they...? _Hands,_ his mind supplied, _someone is holding your head and you’re not breathing._

“I’m calling a doctor,” the boy said, and as soon as Percy registered his words he gripped the boy’s wrists thightly in his hands and shook his head.

“What if it’s the poison?” he insisted, sounding panicked, “just breathe. Just breathe and I will stay here.”

Percy tried, raspy,choking sounds coming out of his hurting throat, everything fuzzy around him apart from the coldness of Flustra’s hands on him and the warmth of another body where for months he had been alone, and lonely, and _empty._

“Good,” he was saying, “good Percy, good. Just keep it up yeah? All his good. I’m here. All right.”

Percy nodded, his breaths coming easier even if he was feeling as exhausted as after hours of harsh training. He knew that his hands were still around the boy’s wrists, holding so hard that he would probably end up bruising his pale skin, but he couldn’t find himself able to let go.

He didn’t love Flustra. But he was nice and pretty and warm under his hands, the only thing that kept him rooted into his body, the only comfort after months of cold nights.

But he didn’t love him. Was it right? Was it right for him to-

The boy joined his foreheads together, still holding his face. “Want me to stay for a while?” he whispered above his nose, tracing his cheekbone with his rough thumb.

“I don’t-” Percy choked out, aware of how close their faces were, “I can’t- we…”

“I know,” Flustra murmured, “but would you like to?”

He opened his mouth to answer again, and found the boy’s lips on his, soft and worn and _warm._

“Yes,” he whispered, and Flustra stayed.

.

The first days of festivities passed relatively quickly: Bythus had come with his wife, but had refused to reside in the Palace. A worry less for Percy, even if Amphitrite wasn’t too sure it was a positive thing.

“His allies and his vassals will see it as a distancing from the Crown,” she had explained, “this is basically an elegant and legal way to refuse you support.”

“Why even come then?” Percy asked, drinking his third cup of coffee of the day, “he could have invented some excuse.”

Amphitrite sighed. “That would have been too explicit, and it would have given us grounds to declare war.”

“Isn’t it what he wishes for?”

“Maybe he’s not ready yet, or your mingling has convinced some of his less convinced supporters to abandon his plan,” she paused, “what did your councillors say?”

“Lord Nilmus believes I am becoming paranoid,” he answered, “and that Bythus is no danger to us or the monarchy, since he swore fealty and none of the raids in the cities could be traced back to him.”

“No, he’s too smart for that,” she agreed, “but I don’t like this situation.”

“I don’t think he’s behind the poisonings though,” Percy added, lazingly filling his mug again, “he seemed to truly believe it was some kind of contagious illness last time.”

Amphitrite sighed again, and gracefully sat down in front of him.

“I’ll be on Olympus on the Solstice,” she reminded him, “it’s not going to be an easy day out at sea. Will you be able to handle it?”

“Why? What happens on the Solstice?” he asked, rummaging through his brain searching for some custom or tradition he had missed.

The goddess looked sad, but also a bit puzzled. “It’s the Haloea,” she answered, “or at least, it was until last year. The Festival of Poseidon,” she added seeing his confused expression, “didn’t Lydos talk to you about it?”

Percy shook his head. He had never heard of anything of the sort.

“In ancient times it was a very… hedonistic celebration. Recently, your father spent the time he wasn’t at the Council and the following days holding court to hear the pleas of the poor and pardoning lesser criminals.”

“Oh,” Percy said, feeling as ignorant as the day Charis had brought him into the Palace, “I’ll… I’ll ask Lydos to discuss the procedures with me in detail later. I think I’ll need it.”

Amphitrite nodded, and rose from her chair. “Don’t forget to participate in at least one of the afternoons activities,” she admonished, “you still have many nobles to greet, and voices travel fast.”

“Voices? What do you mean?”

The goddess gave him a long look.

“Just be careful when I’ll be away, will you?”

Percy nodded, feeling like he was getting scolded for something: there was no way that she knew about Flustra though, and he hadn’t done anything else differently. He thought for a second that she might just truly be worried for him, but laughed it off almost immediately.

Her first priority would always be the kingdom, the sea, the Solstice. Not him, the boy she found herself saddled with, the constant reminder of her missing husband’s infidelity.

The worst thing, he couldn’t even blame her for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you enjoyed it and if you have a spare minute to tell me your impressions I'd love to hear them! All of your lovely comments always bright up my day.  
> Have a nice week!


	10. Year I - Part X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter today... but I think you'll understand why I ended it where I did.  
> Brace yourselves.

Three days before the Winter Solstice Lord Nilmus’ greatest supporter , the councillor coming from the Southern Pacific Ocean, was seen walking with Duke Bythus just outside the Palace’s walls.

One of Dolphin’s men was the one to make the discovery and immediately communicate it to Amphitrite, who proceeded with a blown out interrogation in which it was found out that the dolphin was there just as a substitute for another ill soldier, as it wasn’t his regular shift.

This brought out terrible news.

“None of the other guards admitted to having seen them together,” Amphitrite’s advisor was saying, pacing all around the room, “even if the dolphin swore to have seen them next the purple corals on the eastern side, which is not a blind spot for any of the guards.”

“Dolphin doesn’t think he lied,” Amphitrite interjected, “he trains and knows all of his soldiers, and mostly chooses them for their fealty to the Crown.”

“To the Crown or to Poseidon?” Percy questioned, tired of people forgetting they were no longer the same thing.

“But would he have gained from lying?” the goddess asked him instead of answering, and for how much Percy still wasn’t sure where they stood, he couldn’t avoid but think she was right.

This though, meant that all the _other_ soldiers were lying and that they weren’t loyal to him, that they had probably never been, from when he had spoken to them in his disastrous second task to his Coronation, or maybe even from before.

He had noted on his first arrival to Atlantis, how Charis had been reluctant in lowering her weapons in front of the Palace’s guards, but then he had ignored the issue in favour of more pressing problems. But the more he thought about it, the more feelings of unease he had repressed came to light, like Nikon’s weird behaviour when Percy had called the guards in his rooms, awoken from Hermes’ arrival. Had he truly wished to snoop around?

Percy took his head in his hands, no longer knowing where the line between caution and paranoia stood. He had blamed Zeus of always thinking people wished to dethrone him, but now that he was king he was sure that if left to it for millennials he would become the same.

And was that a nice thought.

“This could also mean that it’s not the first time they have met,” Amphitrite suggested, “and that the soldiers have just always neglected to report it as a suspicious activity.”

“Wouldn’t it have been safer for them to meet in a more secluded space instead of in front of the Palace? They were doing nothing illegal but…”

“It was a perfect plan, I believe,” the goddess’ advisor stated, “by discussing in full sight of the guards, if caught like in this case, they can’t be accused of secretly meeting. All the fault of this goes to the soldiers who have never reported, even if obviously they are just pawns in this plan of theirs.”

“So our hands are tied,” Percy sighed, “while suspicious and probably rightly so, it’s not forbidden for a councillor and a visiting Duke to walk together and talk, especially since they are both southerners. They would defend themselves saying they were discussing their far away land, and no one could disprove them.”

Amphitrite stared hard at him. “I’m not sure it’s the right moment for me to leave,” she said, “between this, the poisonings, all the visiting nobles and the Haloea...your position is still very fragile, and there are so many things that could go wrong.”

“You know we can’t skip the Council,” Percy sighed, “it’s already bad enough that the other gods know that Poseidon is no longer here. If none of the Sea goes, they’ll just take advantage.”

“I shall make sure that the King is protected, my Lady,” her advisor bowed, “asking Dolphin to always make sure _his_ soldiers are the closest to him. The details of his personal guard will also be reconsidered.”

Percy groaned, but Amphitrite seemed pleased. He truly hoped it would be enough.

.

The Duke of the Coral Sea was a tall, pearled skinned ichthyocentaur rumored to have successfully wrestled Charybdis in his youth. Servants who had spoken with his servants, told horror stories about the embalmed bodies of various cetaceans and fishes he held in his gigantic castle near the coast of Southern Australia.

Percy hated him.

From his boisterous behavior to his awe of violence, he was just in perfect opposition to everything Percy valued in a commander and a vassal. The only reason he had been interacting with him at all, was that Amphitrite had basically forced him to, expressing concern that the Duke would take his being excluded from the King’s personal presence as a mortal offence.

A hard and generous use of diplomacy became necessary then, so the day before the Haloea Percy found himself involved in a chess match against him in one of the Palace’s crowded game rooms.

“I have once gifted my wife a cape made from the skin of a lion’s mane jellyfish,” he was saying while Percy desperately looked for a way to lose quickly and end his suffering, “one I killed personally of course,” he continued, “by strangling it with his own tentacles. You should have seen how beautifully it screamed!” he laughed, finally moving a bishop.

“And did your wife appreciate the gift?” Percy asked, not really interested in the answer, moving a rook forward.

“That bitch wouldn’t appreciate a thing even if it came from Poseidon himself,” the Duke blurted out, his eyes scanning the game, “not like her approval means anything to _me_ ,” he laughed, “she’s pretty and young and that’s all that matters, don’t you think?”

Percy felt sick. Were all the relationships like this, in the nobility? Would a wife of his expect a behaviour like this from him? Most of all though, Percy felt angry at his father. There was no way he had never noticed the blatant sexism of his society, and he had never cared to do _anything._

“I doubt I will choose my own wife,” Percy settled on answering, not looking at the Duke for fear of just exploding into an anger he couldn’t afford, and the man nodded in agreement.

“A shame I have no fit daughters,” he commented, and moved a knight to eat one of Percy’s pawns.

A true shame indeed.

.

The morning of the Winter Solstice, Flustra woke him up with coffee and a sea version of croissants, and not bothering with protocol he then just sat directly at the feet of his bed.

“Today’s gonna be a long day,” he stated, nibbling at a piece of algae, “but I’ll be on the sidelines all the ceremony, in case you were to need something while holding court.”

“Thanks,” Percy answered, his voice flat. Flustra stared at him a moment longer, then scooped even closer.

“Are you worried?” he asked, and Percy shook his head.

“Not about holding court,” he answered, “but I don’t like the fact that all my councillors will have to stay behind the throne while I counsel my people.”

“Will have to stay there and _judge,_ ” Flustra stressed.

“And judge every single one of my decisions, yes,” he sighed, “so that tomorrow they may berate me of not being my father.”

The boy moved closer again, now almost sitting on Percy’s legs, “Maybe it’ll be your only Haloea,” he whispered, “maybe next year you’ll be…”

Percy raised a hand, interrupting him. “Don’t,” he murmured, the words stuck in his throat, “let’s just take a day at the time.”

He eyed the croissants, then decided against them. His stomach was all in knots, and the very idea of eating something disgusted him.

“What is the dress code for today?” he asked, rising from the bed, ignoring Flustra’s hurt expression. He had told him that their relationship could never evolve further, that as King he should have never even gone that far, but the merman hadn’t listened, hadn’t reconsidered.

Percy hoped he would never have to break the boy’s heart.

“White,” Flustra answered, regaining his composure, “to express purity of intent and distance from the horrors the people will present you with.”

_What a lovely premise,_ Percy thought, and directed himself towards the bathroom.

.

The throne room never lost his charm, no matter how many times Percy stepped in it.

This time though, it wasn’t lavishly decorated, and there weren’t any places to sit down for the guests: the visiting nobles in fact could only stay on the sides, between the wall and the row of guards that went from the door to the throne. Amphitrite’s advisor hadn’t joked when he had announced that his security detail would be revisited, for there must have been almost fifty guards, half just from Dolphin’s army.

Percy passed on the carpet that had been placed between the two rows, and raised his eyes towards the throne, grimacing slightly at seeing all of his councillors disposed in two semicircles, one per side, dressed with the traditional clothing of the Ocean they came from to show the people that the King cared for all equally. 

He truly wished Amphitrite could have been there.

The Council had probably already started though, and Percy wondered how the other olympians had taken to Poseidon’s disappearance. Amphitrite was an expert politician and _he_ hadn’t actually made any great disaster, but the absence of one of the Big Three was sure to bring about a shift in the delicately maintained balance of gods’ politics. He would surely find himself forced to make an appearance before them sooner or later and he let his thoughts wander on the unpleasantness of it all while he scanned the room.

Lord Nilmus was the closest to him on his right, and his suspicious friend was at his left, just probably to make sure to be able to mutter insults that only Percy could hear. For being a King, he had very few _actual_ powers over his councillors: traditions and customs allowed him zero leeway in many matters that hadn’t been relevant in Poseidon’s reign, for everyone feared and respected him already.

Hadn’t he already threw Chronus into Tartarus he would have done that just as repayment for this horrible curse. The kingdom had been fine for thousands of years and of course, its moment of greatest need would have to fall during Percy’s lifetime.

He nodded to his councillors, the sound of the trumpets bringing him out of his thoughts, and sat down on the marble throne, its Emblems contrasting even more in the stark light of the morning and against his pure white robes.

Percy swallowed down a sigh, acutely aware that every single one of his movements was scrutinized by all the visiting nobles, dukes, counts and heirs. He looked for Bythus, but could not recognize him in the crowd. It was likely he had remained in his quarters, for the nobles were there to test his behaviour when faced with ordinary problems, to test his mercy and his anger, and he had probably decided not to follow Percy on principle. 

“My Lords, my Ladies,” he announced, “may the Haloea festivities start.”

The doors to the outside opened, and a row of poorly dressed peasants stepped in, reaching more or less till about half of the room. It was evident they had never seen anything as grand and lavish, nothing as spectacular as the golden seafoam of the ceiling, as the corals of the walls and as the intricate mosaics of the floor, for their eyes wandered and their mouths hung open.

Percy found himself smiling, remembering the similar reaction he’d had the first time he had seen the room. The soldiers held no regard for their awe though, and they pushed the people into a neat line, quietly barking orders and threats until they all fell silent, and the first one stepped forward.

“Your Majesty,” he whispered, bowing so love his nose almost touched the floor, “I am here today in this...sacred day to ask for a pardon for my son’s crime.”

“What crime has your son committed?” Percy asked. This was one of the typical questions Lydos had prepared him for, showing him which crimes his father usually forgave and which he didn’t, so he was fairly certain he’d get it right.

“He has…” the man paused, swallowing harshly, “he has stolen, my Lord, from the tuna farming in eastern Japan.”

“And what punishment has your son already received?” he questioned further, mostly just to show that, even if he would be pardoned, he hadn’t gotten away with it _completely._

“He has been in the Count’s dungeons for over a month, your Majesty,” he answered, “and I haven’t been permitted to visit him.”

Percy swallowed down a sigh. That wasn’t the correct punishment, nor the correct way to handle the crime: he would have to speak with the Count, possibly even to the Duke if he had been the one to implement the laws.

He mentally added _check the legal system and think of a possible reform_ , to his to-do list and pardoned the boy while his father thanked him profusely.

None of the councillors behind him made any kind of comment, and Percy had a short lived bout of optimism: maybe the day wouldn’t go as bad as he had thought he would.

After the next four requests he heard, he was then forced to reconsider. Lord Nilmus had snickered and chuckled during his last judgement, murmuring a _ridiculous_ he was sure everyone had heard, while his suspicious friend had shook his head and sighed when Percy had refused to pardon a man who had beaten his wife.

The other councilors mostly stood silently, or whispered with each other about how _Poseidon_ would have handled the issue, about how the decisions he took were only because of his young age and his inexperience. It hurt to hear, even if he already knew that none of them was _actually_ on his side.

So maybe Percy should have been more careful, when a hoodied man stepped forward, holding his ratted cape tightly around him. He would have noticed how the guards left him alone maybe, hadn’t he been worrying about what Amphitrite was doing at the Council and about his _own_ councillors.

Maybe, maybe, _maybe_.

“What brings you in front of your King?” he asked, when the man kept silently staring at the ground. “If you are mute, there are interpreters at your disposal. Haven’t you been informed?” Percy looked at the guards questioningly, but most of them refused to meet his gaze.

Maybe, maybe, _maybe,_ had he kept attention....

He was about to order the man to be brought outside, when he shifted under his ripped cloak and moved forward, hitting the ground with his knees and swiftly lowering his hood to show his-

Percy’s brain short circuited. Duke Bythus was kneeling in front of him, in ratty robes and a dirty cloak and-

“You’re no true King!” Bythus yelled, while Dolphin’s guards moved forward and Percy’s panicked and surprised brain made him try to stand up and-

Maybe, maybe, _maybe,_ had he been more careful…

An arm shoot from behind him, taking his shoulder and forcing him back into the throne, while Dolphin’s trusted men had started fighting the _other_ guards, while Bythus was yelling about his own claim to the throne, and Percy was so surprised and overwhelmed that he complied, turning his head to the side just to see Lord Nilmus hovering above him.

Lord Nilmus with angry, shining eyes and golden dagger in his hand, Lord Nilmus so close to him that he could smell the perfume on his robes. Battle panic was something he was used to. It was something he was prepared to handle: the water would respond to his fear, to his panic, and everything would be alright.

Maybe, maybe, _maybe,_ hadn’t he heard Flustra screaming from the other side of the hall it would have happened.

But he did. And it stopped him. And…

And there was no time left for the ocean to save his king.

Lord Nilmus planted the knife straight into his throat, blood spilling freely onto his white robes. Percy heard people screaming, he heard his soldiers fight each other. He did not feel pain until his too green eyes met the councillor’s power hungry ones. He tasted blood, it gurgled from his mouth and his throat until it was the only thing he could smell, and taste, and think about.

Apart from betrayal, and _treason_ and a knife that had hit his throat but that seemed to have also been planted in his back, in that small spot his humanity had rested two years before.

He wanted to yell, he wanted to cry and scream, but he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe and his mind panicked again, because this couldn’t be how he died, he wasn’t ready for this to be the end. He hadn’t said goodbye to his mother, he hadn’t… And Amphitrite had been right about him not being able to handle the fragile situation, but now he would never be able to see her again and tell her-

“Take the King away!” he heard someone scream in the haze of the room, “-doctor! Take the-”

The voice disappeared, while his vision blurred at the edges. With the last of his strength he tried to press his hands to his wound, its bleeding increasing tenfold when Nilmus removed the knife sharply and _laughed._

There was so much blood. There was so much _red,_ on his clothes, on his hands, on the marble throne.

The nobles were running away terrified for their power and their heirs, the guards were battling even if Percy could not say whose side was winning. They all had the same uniform, they all wore the same colours, had the same weapons.

There were hands on him then, but he had no left strength to fight them off. _This is how it ends,_ he was left to think, and then the sounds faded, his mind stopped, and his vision turned dark.

The sea didn’t though. The sea didn’t. There was so much _blood._

It would remain red for quite a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say this story would turn angst didn't I? I'm so excited about next chapters...
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it and let me know your thoughts!


	11. Year II - Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are decades where nothing happens and weeks where decades happens... and this is true even for fics! Enjoy a chapter full of... explanations, let's say.

.  
.  
.

Poseidon was sitting on his mother’s washed purple sofa, his hands placed on the worn fabric while he looked at him intensely.

Percy blinked, realizing that he was sitting down on the half broken chair they kept out of sentiment, and looked around at his own living room as if he hadn’t seen it in ages. 

But he hadn’t, had he?

He couldn’t remember why, though. His father was there, so something important must have happened. Or was it his birthday? He had visited for his birthday, once, even if he couldn’t remember how old he had been.

There were quite many things he couldn’t remember at the moment. He looked at his father again then, as if he held the answer to all of his questions, and pretended not be ashamed of the clear panic in his eyes that Poseidon must be seeing.

“Peace, my son”, he finally rumbled, and the smell of the sea filled the room, almost lulling Percy back where he had come from.

He kept staring at him then, eyes sad and tired, so Percy sat up straighter. He wasn’t a child.

“What happened?” he pressed, “is it my birthday again?”

Poseidon sighed, and rose from the sofa, coming closer to where Percy was sitting. A part of him screamed that he ought to be afraid, that he was a powerful god and Percy wasn’t in a condition to fight, but the sound of waves in his ears was gentle, and unthreatening.

Percy found himself relaxing against his better judgement, while one of Poseidon’s strong hands slowly lifted his chin.

“You are dying,” his father murmured, never taking his eyes off his own, “you are dying, my son, and this is the only way I can make it more comfortable for you.”

Dying? His father must have confused him with someone else. He was perfectly fine. He wasn’t even on a quest, just in his mother’s house. He opened his mouth to say just that, but coldness suddenly engulfed him and he trembled, chills running down his spine.

Poseidon was still looking at him, almost desperate. “I..” he started, and grasped his father’s wrist with his own trembling hand, “I don’t want to die” he whispered, and felt the god’s shudder against his body.

“I know, Percy,” he answered, lightly stroking his hair. Had they always been this sweaty? He hitched a breath, and launched his arms forward, desperate for contact, desperate for the comfort of his father’s strong arms.

“What happened?” he asked again, “why can’t I remember?”

The god sighed again. “I think you just don’t want to,” he answered, “but it doesn’t matter. You were asked too much.”

“So I failed you,” Percy muttered against his father's torso, seeking an escape from the terrible coldness that had spread in his bones. What had he asked him, so difficult that Percy hadn’t managed?

Poseidon didn’t answer, but his hand never stopped caressing his back. Percy swallowed down his shame, and willed himself to _remember_ where he had been before coming back home and-

But his mother would have been there if he had truly been home. So if she wasn’t...the smell of the sea became even more poignant and an image of Atlantis appeared in Percy’s mind, even if he only had been there once when- no that wasn’t right, was it?

“You left,” he finally whispered, stepping back, “you left and the kingdom was given to me.”

“Yes,” Poseidon confirmed, not letting him step away too far, “there was a curse, from my father. My other godly children have been hit too, but I know not where they are.”

His eyes still looked sad. “Could you see me? Being there at your place?”

The god shook his head. “I can only feel that you’re dying. I don’t know why, nor by whose hand. Tell me,” he then added fervently, “tell me and I’ll make them pay at my return.”

“You may never,” Percy whispered, “you may never return if Duke Bythus takes the Kingdom for good. He’ll destroy it.”

Poseidon swallowed harshly. “Bythus? I knew he was trouble,” he swore, and the peace of the room turned into anger, then despair and then calm again when the god felt Percy tremble against his hands.

He held on tighter. “Amphitrite was at the Winter Solstice,” he added, disliking the uncomfortable silence, “the councillors plotted against me,” he confessed, “maybe I was being horrible or arrogant or-”

“Shh,” his father gently silenced, touching his cheek with a calloused hand, “I don’t believe you capable of being cruel on purpose. The promise of power made them greedy for what wasn’t theirs to take.”

“Me?” Percy asked, confused. It was all so cold, and he was so tired of keeping his eyes open. Maybe he could just rest for a while…

“The kingdom,” Poseidon specified, his voice rich and almost trembling, “they will never have you, Perseus. You are the ocean now, and all of its seas. They shall not possess you.”

“But I’m dying,” he insisted, staring at his father’s dark green eyes, so similar and so different from his own, “they will crown-”

Poseidon’s eyes hardened even more, and Percy paused, trying and failing to move away. “I thought…” he started, looking as uncertain as he had never seen a god, “but you’d already be gone. The limbo doesn’t last this long, not even with my power and your crown.”

Another kind of fear chilled Percy’s body and he pushed against his father’s hands again, hugging his own torso like a wounded animal might do.

“I can’t die?” he whispered, fear wide in his eyes.

Poseidon stepped closer again. “A part of you is still alive,” he said, his skin regaining some of its colour, “find it,” he then instructed, radiating relief. For him or for the Kingdom, Percy couldn’t say, but he wasn’t going to argue.

He was so tired, and everything was so cold.

“Anchor yourself to it, Perseus,” he heard his father say, “you are the sea. You will know when to land.”

Percy closed his eyes, focusing on the deep rumble of the waves, trying to listen to his own heartbeat, trying to follow it into his body again. The smell of the sea was getting stronger and stronger, but the cold was still there, chilling his soul. He opened his eyes again, but everything was dark around him, Poseidon and his living room no longer there.

He sobbed, panicked and _alone_. But he didn't want to die. He didn’t.

There were hands on him. Warm, delicate hands, just on the other side of the darkness, so close and so out of reach and- Percy didn’t want to die.

He closed his eyes again, and let himself fall into the void.

.  
.  
.  
“-you know where-”

“we must...Lady Amphitrite is-”

“maybe from the back we-”

It was a confusion of shrill, panicked voices that finally made Percy regain consciousness. So much noise, all around him, and he couldn’t recognize even one of the people who were speaking.

“Silence!” a powerful voice intoned then, and the chatter died instantly. “I think he’s awake. Can you hear me, Your Majesty?” the man asked, and Percy could hear him move closer.

He tried to open his eyes, to nod at his question, but his body refused to obey. Everything hurt so much, and the coldness was still hard set into his bones. Where was he? What had happened after his collapse in the throne room?

Was he still King?

Something must have changed then, in his breathing, for fear or pain he could not say, because the man stepped forward again- and his voice was familiar, but damn he couldn’t place it- and pressed a hand just above his heart.

“In case you can hear me,” he started, “the doctor is positive you will make, in time, a full recovery. We believe the ocean must have healed the worst of it, even if…”

He cleared his throat, and Percy had a passing thought on how he was probably hiding something, before the pain took hold of all of his senses again.

.  
.  
.

When he awoke again, it was to a white, empty room.

Percy blinked, groaning at the intensity of the light, and tried to sit up on the bed, just to feel like thousands of sharp needles had been placed in every inch of his body.

How long had he spent in bed?

He looked around the room, but there was nothing interesting: a small wardrobe that had seen better days, a desk with a dozen bottles on it and no chair, and a pair of slippers at the foot of his bed. Nothing in the setting of the room was familiar, and all of the furniture seemed to be shabbier than the one in the Palace. 

At least, though, he was still underwater.

He tried to get up again, balancing himself on the soft mattress, just to realize he was no longer wearing the white robes of the Haloea, but loose pants and an ever looser blouse. So maybe if someone had been taking care of him, Bythus hadn’t managed to take possess of Atlantis. Because if he had, Percy would be dead.

Or maybe it was him, who was no longer in Atlantis.

He was about to take a deep breath and stand up, when the door opened and his eyes met Amphitrite’s dark ones, widened in surprise.

“You’re awake,” she murmured, frozen on the doorstep, and before Percy could answer she had already yelled for a doctor somewhere behind her and had then stepped closer to his bed with a guarded expression.

“What happened?” he asked then, when she seemed unable to stop staring at him, “how long have I been unconscious? Where are we?” he pressed.

The goddess made a chair of algae and coral, and elegantly sat next to his bed. She looked exhausted, Percy noted, as if she hadn’t slept in weeks and weeks, as if she had truly been _worried._

“Nothing too unusual happened at the Council,” she started, still staring right into him, “everyone had many questions about your role as King and… not everyone agreed it was a wise decision to let you rule.”

“But they can’t do anything about it, right?” Percy asked, suddenly worried about Bythus receiving even more help.

Amphitrite shook her head. “The sea is not theirs to govern,” she explained, “and it never will be.”

“Is it still mine though?”

The goddess sighed, and laid back against the chair. “When you came here in July,” she started, “me and Dolphin had matching rings made, so that we might send each other distress signals in case of emergency. You’re the first, you must understand,” she explained, “the first mortal to grace Atlantis in such an important way. We needed to keep you safe.”

Percy swallowed the indignation that was coming up in his throat. _I can take care of myself,_ he wanted to say, but he hadn’t been able to, had he?

“I got back to the Palace as soon as I could, but everything was already in disarray. Most of the guards mutinied, passing on Bythus’ side and leading his men to the strategic points of defence of the Palace so that they could neutralize the rest of our army.”

“Dolphin’s men?” Percy asked, thinking back on the way they had been hauled as the most loyal.

“Dead in dozens,” Amphitrite answered, “but he’s the one who managed to carry you out of the throne room, away from the treacherous councillors and from the battle. I tried to join,” she then added after a small pause, “but Bythus declared you dead and I needed to be certain that you weren’t.”

His head hurt already, and he could tell from the goddess’ stiff shoulders that the worst was yet to come.

“You were urgently brought to the infirmary, but you had lost a lot of blood and the water wasn’t healing you quick enough. You died,” Amphitrite stated, her voice the firmest tone he had ever heard from her, “and then you breathed again.”

“Father said a part of me was still alive,” Percy murmured, ashamed of his weakness, of letting himself be stabbed.

Amphitrite looked up so fast her neck made a straining sound. “Poseidon? You saw him?”

Percy nodded. “We were…” he cleared his throat, “in my house. He said that he could feel that I was dying and nothing else. And that I needed to find the part of me that was still alive and anchor myself to it.”

The goddess looked almost envious for a moment, but then her expression cleared up, and there was only sadness in her dark eyes.

“Anyway,” she resumed, “we had barricaded all the entrances to the infirmary, but the soldiers were trying to come through, Bythus with all of his ducal army and the ones of his counts and of his allies. Me and the doctor smuggled you out from a secret passage, while Dolphin kept them busy.”

“So we’re no longer in Atlantis?” Percy asked, panicked. How could the Palace be in Bythus’ hands? Nothing he had done to prevent it had worked, all of his effort wasted, all the hours studying diplomacy and reading history thrown away in an afternoon.

Would the Duke destroy all of Poseidon’s possessions? Would he steal from the Treasure Room? What damage could he do to the ancient papers from the study and the libraries?

“We’re not in the Palace,” she confirmed, slowly, maybe unaware of his inner turmoil, “but we’re still in the city, hidden in an empty house. There are rewards for all our heads,” she explained, “but all the doors in and out of the city are heavily controlled and we couldn’t leave with you unable to move.”

He nodded. “So Bythus took possess of the Palace and the army and the city. But he’s still not King, because I’m still alive?”  
Amphitrite sighed, and took her head in her hands. Percy had never seen her this devastated, this out of control. Her always prim clothes were full of tears and stains (was it blood? Was it _his_ blood?) and her hair were no longer tied in careful braids, but loose and wild on her shoulders. She looked young. Young and _scared._

“It’s not that easy,” she explained, “he’s declared you dead. Many saw you get stabbed and lose consciousness, and these kinds of news travel fast. The reward is _literally_ on your head. He probably wants to parade your dead body around.”

“That’s gross,” Percy commented, feeling his head lighter and lighter. It was all so much. It was all too much, but he also needed to know how bad the situation was.

“He already reached the Palace through the stairs, and won the loyalty of the army,” she then continued, “the first two trials. Now he wants to make sure you’re dead before trying to obtain the throne, and then…”

“And then he’ll be King,” Percy whispered, “and it’d be the end.”

Amphitrite sighed, “He’ll rule even before officially having the title,” she explained, “I believe he’s actually already doing that. He’ll declare himself a liberator from tyranny, _your_ tyranny, and use his considerable army to force the obedience of the duchies that haven’t betrayed us yet.”

“We need to fight him then,” Percy advocated, “if we kill him his army will collapse and-”

“Not now,” the goddess interrupted, “we only have a handful of soldiers, and you’re still recovering. We need to reassess our strengths, find allies and plan a war to take back what’s ours. We’ll fight,” she asserted, staring right into him, “but not now.”

“So we do nothing? We hide like criminals? We let the people believe I’m dead?”

“The people aren’t fighting _him_ ,” she said through gritted teeth, “because, right now, they truly believe him to be their _saviour_ ,” she scoffed.

Percy’s heart stopped in his chest. “Was I...was I that bad?” he whispered, not even looking Amphitrite in the eyes. The doctor had come and gone, giving him a couple of days of bedrest, but he felt like he’d be exhausted forever by merely existing.

The goddess scooped forward, taking Percy’s cold hands in hers. “When Bythus came in visit, we thought he had believed the story of the mysterious illness spreading around. We were too cocky, and didn’t think too much of the mermen we had sent on land to investigate not coming back.”

“He took them?” Percy asked, feeling worse and worse by the minute. So Bythus had found out about the poisonings, had declared him behind them, and now the people believed him.

All he had been relentlessly working to avoid, all the worst case scenarios he had run in his head at night- they had all come true together, while he was injured and vulnerable.

“Perseus,” Amphitrite sighed, her voice soft, “they had understood what the poison was.”

“And?”

“The servants had been stealing,” she carefully answered, “from your private stocks.”

“I never had any poison!” he exclaimed, trying and failing to stand up again, “I would have _never_ brought-”

She held out her hand, and her exhausted expression made him pause. But how could she even imply that he would willingly cause _harm_ to his people?

“When you first arrived here,” she carefully worded, “the workload was much more than you were used to. You asked for… help, in the form of a beverage.”

She paused, leaving him time to understand, and then she took his hands again, and stared him in the eyes.

“Coffee seeds are poisonous to merpeople and ichthyocentaurs alike,” she softly explained, “we had no idea, no one was familiar with its composition and we couldn’t identify it because we were comparing it to mortal _poisons_...and for you it’s just not- not harmful.”

“What?” Percy asked, feeling detached, feeling like his body wasn’t touching anything solid but just levitating somewhere, “I… I killed them?”

“You _didn’t,_ ” the goddess stated, her voice firm and sure, “you couldn’t know. No one did. And you never gave it to them- they just took it. Hadn’t they stolen…”

He shook his head. “It’s not their fault. They didn’t know that-”

“You didn’t know either” she repeated, and Percy pressed his eyes closed. It was all too much. It was all so much, all together, and he had no idea how to cope with it.

_Hold tight, hold tight,_ he had tattooed on his chest. He swallowed harshly.

“So Bythus’ been saying I did it on purpose?”

“That you were killing the servants that you thought were opposing you,” she clarified.

“Gods,” Percy murmured, exhausted behind any point of recovery. “Is there more I need to know?” he asked, and Amphitrite tentatively shook her head, and stood up from her makeshift chair.

“Rest,” she instructed, “we’ll think on how to handle this when you’ll be feeling better.”

“I’m never going to feel good again,” he confessed, falling back into bed again, feeling the goddess come closer to him.

“We’ll get through this, Perseus,” she murmured, “sons of the sea are famous for their unwavering stubbornness. Don’t be the first to give up, mh?”

Her hand came forward, and gently moved a lock of hair out of his eyes.

“You need to recover your strength,” she added then, ”so sleep well,” she whispered again, and left him alone in the empty, white room.

If only had he been younger, if only had he been a child, maybe her words would have been enough. But he was almost a man now, a king and a murderer and a tyrant, and his night was only made of pain, and nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, congratulations to Karmalex, who had understood what the poison was back in chapter nine! I'm glad that the trail of breadcrumps I left in the previous chapters worked.
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts on this new developments! All your comments and kudos fill me with joy ;)


	12. Year II - Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! Life got in the way.  
> I'm still not very sure about the ending, but I don't think I will anytime soon and I wanted to give you something.  
> Enjoy!

“Dolphin has managed to contact some of his men still in the Palace,” Amphitrite told him the next morning, while she was changing the bandages to his almost-healed wound, “they have pretended to betray him, but are still on our side. They’ll try to let us leave the city.”

“Do they know some sort of secret passage?” Percy asked, perplexed, “what part of the city are we even in?”

“Not as far away from the Palace as we should,” she answered quietly, “but we couldn’t risk swimming further away, with you in those conditions”

She swallowed harshly, and gently continued to bandage his neck. “We’ll pass from the main gate to the city,” she announced, her voice firm. Percy’s eyes shot to hers, but she raised a hand to silence him, “there are thousands of people passing through. We’ll go during rush hour, and I’m sure we’ll manage to blend in well enough.”

“How can we _blend in_ when I literally look different than all of the inhabitants of the sea? I have no tail, and my skin is surely not blue!”

Amphitrite’s hands stilled. “Mine either,” she whispered, “but we’ll be wearing rags, and the guard for the inspection should be one of our spies. We’ll pass through.”  
“I am healthy enough to fight now,” Percy added, “if they don’t let us pass, we’ll fight the guards. Or we could go to the Palace and fight Bythus directly-”

“You won’t take this kingdom back by force, Perseus.The sea and its people don’t like to be forced. And could you imagine what would happen if you were to truly die? Bythus would destroy the Kingdom before Poseidon would ever manage to come back.”

“Couldn’t you fight him then?”

Amphitrite tied up his bandage, and stepped away. “My powers work with your father’s,” she answered, already turning away, “and you will ask nothing more about this.”

.

Dolphin shrugged him by the shoulder, and Percy slowly opened his eyes, blinking at the unexpected light.

“It’s late afternoon, Your Majesty,” he quietly spoke, “time to leave.”

Percy quickly dressed himself with the smelly, torn rags he had been handed, covering himself from head to toe with the worn fabric, that in a far away time had probably been vibrantly blue. Amphitrite appeared through the door, dressed in similar clothes but still managing to seem elegant.

“Don’t speak if not necessary,” she instructed, “you still have a bit of an accent. Dolphin will speak for us. If pressed, our cover story is that we’re returning home from the New Year’s festivities and-”

“New Year?”, Percy interrupted, “isn’t it still December?”

He was met with silence. “You were between life and death for almost a week, Perseus,” the goddess finally answered, after glancing at Dolphin, “and still unconscious when your… condition had stabilized.”

“It’s the middle of January, Your Majesty,” Dolphin explained, “Bythus has not rushed his instauraton as Atlantis’ de facto sovereign. His power isn’t yet solidified but-”

“That’s not necessary now, Dolphin,” Amphitrite interrupted, “we need to leave.”

“No, no wait,” Percy pressed, still confused. He had lost almost three weeks. How could he have been unconscious for so long? The sea had healed him when he was nothing more than a child, and now that he was King… wasn’t it supposed to heal him faster?

“Why-” he finally managed to whisper to the goddess while they were quickly swimming to the main gate, “why hasn’t the sea healed me faster? Why was I even almost dead if-” he swallowed, half panicking. Was it the sea itself that didn’t want him as King? Was the sea itself that had concurred in getting rid of him?

Amphitrite seemed about to tell him to be silent again, but her expression changed when she actually _looked_ at him, at his big, pained green eyes almost completely hidden by the ragged hood.

“The blade had been dirtied,” she answered, just as quietly, “which caused an infection that made your healing more difficult and-” she paused, looking around to check that no one was paying them attention, “and the blade was also coated with a slow acting poison.”

That someone had tried so hard to murder him shouldn’t have been a relief, but it was. So the sea _had_ healed him. The wound just hadn’t been a priority.

“Oh,” he commented, “so that’s why it took so long?”

Amphitrite bit her lip, and looked away. She looked like she very much didn’t want to be having this conversation: had they been in the Palace, Percy was sure she’d have left long ago, but now that they were in queue for the gates between hundreds of others, there was nowhere she could run to.

Percy would have felt bad at pressing, had it been anyone else, had it been on something that didn’t weigh on him as much.

“Amphitrite?” he repeated, trying to see her eyes under the heavy hood. “Is it the reason?”

The queue moved forward, and Dolphin threw them a glance from his place a couple of mermen before them. _Everything alright?_ he seemed to mean, so Percy nodded, even if he had probably never felt worse, now that he knew the poisonings had been his fault, now that he knew that the people and the army had rebelled against him.

“Did you truly want it to?” Amphitrite asked suddenly, so long after Percy had asked that he wasn’t even expecting an answer anymore. “The sea,” she punctualized, “answers to you now. You could have healed faster,” she continued, “if you had let yourself. But you didn’t.” she swallowed, “I… I’m sorry that- that you felt like-”

“Don’t,” Percy managed to say, almost in trance. “Just-”, he breathed deeply, his hands shaking, “-give me a minute. I didn't- I didn’t want to-”

“Of course not,” Amphitrite was quick to answer, “only a couple of bad thoughts in the wrong moment, right?” She looked so awkward, even if her face was half covered, like she truly had no idea how to handle that kind of conversation.

An immortal between immortals doesn’t think of death, after all.

And it’s not like Percy felt in any way inclined to have this kind of conversation with her. He wasn’t even sure if she had stopped hating him. Maybe if Flustra had been with him, he would have listened: Amphitrite had assured him that he wasn’t dead when she had arrived, so that scream Percy had heard… could have been in fear, or maybe he had been non-fatally hit.

Or maybe he had seen the blade coming towards his neck.

He nodded to Amphitrite’s almost rhetorical question. But he truly hadn’t wanted to die, had he? It hadn’t been a good year alright, and he had just broken up with Annabeth, but she hadn’t hated him. And his nightmares weren’t even as bad as when he had just returned from Tartarus.

So, alright, he wasn’t happy. Now especially, that he had lost that little that he had had being King of Atlantis, now that he had basically become a murderer… he shivered at the idea of it, and Dolphin glanced back again. It was almost their turn, and Percy could hardly think straight. But he wasn’t suicidal. He hadn’t been. Not since…

Well, the sea had healed him at the end. So that must have been a sign that he hadn’t _truly_ wanted to die. Because if he had wanted it, he would have managed. Yes, he nodded to himself, yes he was just fine. Just fine.

“Next!” the guard at the gate called, and Amphitrite moved forward, Dolphin right beside them again.

“Going back home too?” he asked them in the hearing range of the guards and then, with a perfect southern accent, “Didn’t know you were here or we could have celebrated together!”

He walked brusquely to the tired and pissed ichthyocentaur on guard, barely raising his chin towards the dolphin sitting next to him. “We’re all together, me and my neighbours. Going back home south to continue with the celebrations, now that we can do it _openly_ ,” he accentuated, winking at the guard, who snickered lightly and gestured at the dolphin next to him.

One of Dolphin’s own men. Just according to plan. It’s going too smoothly, Percy thought, but then also, why not? He had already been stabbed, and dethroned. Just for probability, now something could also go _right._

The dolphin quickly checked the general false documents and gestured at him to leave. Percy went forward, handling the papers with an incredibly steady hand. He wasn't a stranger to lies, and he had survived less favorable plans, but all of his instincts were still on alert since his almost death and the awful conversation he had had with Amphitrite.

The dolphin gestured at him to pass too after a slight glance, and Percy breathed out in relief, his muscles relaxing a stress he didn’t know he was holding. Dolphin immediately pushed him out of the gate, while Amphitrite handed her own fake documents.

The dolphin took them as he had had with the others, but this time the ichthyocentaur on guard walked right beside him, and Percy could see the soldier tensing and Amphitrite’s eyes shoot to his. _Go_ , they said, but Percy had no intention of leaving her here: if she got taken back to Bythus, they both wouldn’t survive a week.

Dolphin stepped forward, hand on his hidden dagger.

“You have a pretty neighbour my friend,” the ichthyocentaur laughed, moving towards her, “I wonder how she looks under these ugly rags, don’t you?” he addressed the soldier, who swallowed visibly. The guard laughed again, and Percy moved forward, shadowing Dolphin’s earlier actions.

“Take off your hood,” he ordered, stepping right in front of her, trapping the goddess between him and the queuing peasants, “brighten up a bit my boring day, and then maybe I’ll let you go,” he laughed again, looking at Dolphin as if to obtain his approval.

Percy growled, and the water tensed all around them, stilling the currents, quieting the animals, preparing itself for turmoil: if the guard attacked Amphitrite, Percy would kill him first, then they’d think about running away. Most of the other people wouldn’t try to stop them, Percy reasoned, and they would swim away fast, far away from the city, into the depth where he had never been, and they’d be safe for long enough to plan how to proceed.

Amphitrite slowly moved her gloved hands to her hood, and lowered it down, never raising her eyes from the ground.

Dolphin’s hand shot on Percy’s arm, stilling him. The goddess looked nothing like she had always been: her dark skin was now as green as pines, her curly hair straightened and cut short. 

She looked like a normal, average mermaid.

Percy stared at her, releasing the currents from his grasp. If she could change her appearance, why even bother with the whole facade? Why even bother with running away from the city? If she still had her powers, they could have even fought Bythus together, they could have found a way to subdue the army.

Why were they leaving like cowards?

The soldier handed her her documents back, and Amphitrite reached him and the Dolphin under the door.

“Let’s get away,” she murmured, but Percy hesitated, giving a last look towards the city. Smuggling out had been easy, but he wasn’t sure they’d ever manage to set foot in it again, when the mess of the passage of power cleared away and the festivities ended, Percy was sure Bythus would enact much stricter controls. It was already weird that a couple of soldiers were all that stood between Atlantis and the outside, even now.  
Bythus might have believed him dead, but he was too smart to be sure of it. And even if he had been, Amphitrite would have still been alive, and sincerely Percy believed she posed a much bigger threat than him, powers or no powers.

Or just a bit of them, apparently.

He raised his eyes towards her, who was looking at him with a questioning expression. “Come,” she repeated, and Dolphin gently grabbed his arm to move him forward.

Percy shrugged off his arm as soon as they exited the gate, distancing himself from the both of them. It had been too easy. It had all been too easy, too convenient to have one of Dolphin’s soldiers on guard. He couldn’t believe anymore that Bythus had accepted that the soldiers from the King’s personal guard, chosen from their loyalty, had betrayed him. None in his right mind would.

He felt his mind clear up. It was a ploy, it _must_ have been a ploy, to get him… to get him somewhere else, maybe where Bythus was waiting for him. It must have been planned, to make him feel safe and then take away the carpet from under his feet.

“You’re not Amphitrite,” he stated, eyes wild, “and you…” he said, looking at Dolphin, “do you know? Are you part of the plan, or have you been deceived too? Look at her!” he screamed, when Dolphin kept staring at him in confusion.

Little riptides formed at his feet. “So what was the plan? Mh? You can show me who you really are now,” he walked forward, “you don’t have to keep hiding. I know you’re not her.”

“Perseus,” the goddess hissed, “this is not the right moment for this shenanigans. What is the meaning of this? We must get away from the city before-”

“Stop this!” he growled, “you can change your face, what tells me you haven’t done it before? If you have powers, why are we running away? Why was I _truly_ unconscious for so long?”

Dolphin placed himself between him and the goddess. “There is no ploy,” he stated, “regain your mind and swim. We can’t afford to stay here any longer.”

He tried to grab his arm again, but Percy shoved him back, and unsheathed his sword, the celestial bronze glimmering in the soft, blue light of the sea.

He raised Anaklusmos, and placed the tip of the blade just under Amphitrite’s raised chin. The people around them were pointing, and pacing away, some were probably calling the guards, but Percy didn’t care: he was already in Bythus’ hands anyway.

“Who are _you_?” he asked, anger swelling up inside him. He held back the rage the sea would answer to. Even if they had hauled Bythus as saviour, the people didn’t deserve to die. Only the impostor in front of him did.

“I am Amphitrite,” the woman quietly said, her eyes hard as metal, “daughter of Nereus and Doris, mother of monsters, wife of Poseidon, dowager Queen of the Seven Seas, ” she paused, “and _you_ , Perseus, a mortal bastard between thousands who have already lived and died, you will step away and sheath your weapon now.”

Percy hesitated. She sounded like Amphitrite did all the times she had gotten angry at him: only more serious, maybe this time actually ready for a fight. His whole body tensed in anticipation, pervaded by an urge to let go, to unleash all the strength of the currents that pulsed around him

“The guards are coming,” Dolphin interrupted, not daring to step between them, “Perseus lower your sword. We haven’t dragged your unconscious body through the chaos of a Palace in full revolt for you to destroy our attempts at _saving_ your neck by behaving like a toddler throwing a tantrum.”

“I have a right to know where we’re going!” he exclaimed, but he put Anaklusmos down, and returned it into his pocket after a slight glance at the incoming guards.

Amphitrite stepped closer to him. “Do not ever dare to do something like that again,” she threatened, and swam away towards Dolphin, who threw a hard glance at him and went after her.

They were still his best chance to figure out what was going on. And if she wasn’t Amphitrite… he’d fight her. He had fought worse.

He took a deep breath, calmed himself, and followed.

.

They swam in silence for hours, avoiding the main roads and sticking to the less trafficked ones, trying to adapt to a non-suspicious pace but still moving quite fastly.

They were going North, Percy could feel that, could have even known the coordinates of the exact place they were in, if he so wished. But there was no point in it: wherever they were going, it had been clear that he had no choice but to follow them there.

The tense silence had become unbearable hours before, and Percy held still on his tongue millions of words. If that woman wasn’t Amphitrite, who could she be? And if the general wasn’t Dolphin, then whom? And where were they?

She wouldn’t have left him alone in the Palace after Bythus’ uprise, so maybe she had come to Atlantis, and had been imprisoned. But could the southern duke and his army, unorganized and still half-faithful to the Crown, really beat her in a fight?

But also if they couldn’t- why had she run?

He thought back about her words, about how her powers worked with the ones of his father. He had no idea of what it could mean: he knew she had been a nereid before her marriage, and he knew that Poseidon had told him to trust her, and he knew what she liked for breakfast and most of her day to day schedule. Was it enough? Would it be enough?

The water was turning colder, and Percy cherished the shivers that passed through him. They were surely going North, on the opposite of where Bythus’ duchy stood, where he still had faithful nobles. If they had been enemies, surely they would have tried to take him South instead?

After another hour or so, Percy started to feel the weight of the day on him, the stress, the tensions of the journey and the swirls of emotion he had been through. The others were tired too, he could see it, but they were more used to swimming for long periods and long distances, while Percy had never even been _taught_ how to.

And for how much he had been, and maybe half still was, King of the sea, he had never been the god of it: the sea is, was, _had been_ his, but not all of him had been of the sea, and it never would be.

Dolphin glanced back at him when he started slowing down, and murmured something to Amphitrite, who hesitantly nodded.

“Take your hood up again,” Dolphin instructed, his first words after hours of silence, “next village we reach we’ll stop at the inn to rest for the night.”

Percy nodded, taking the ruined fabric above his head, awaiting the well-deserved rest and dreading a night in Amphitrite and Dolphin’s silent company.

But he had survived a well-planned assassination attempt: he could survive an apology, and he could survive an awkward conversation. He would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a transitory chapter, but I hope you still enjoyed it!
> 
> I am taking quite the creative license with Amphitrite's character: her parentage is the same than in the myths, and that's it.  
> The rest will come out... soon.
> 
> I hope I'll manage to update again before Christmas, but in case I don't manage, happy holidays!


	13. Year II - Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of explanations, a bit of angst... and a new mystery!

The inn was a dark, decaying building in an equally ratty little village. Percy tried looking around, to see if it had at least a redeeming quality, but everything seemed to be just seconds away from falling apart, and there were handfuls of mercentaurs just sitting aimlessly at the corners of the main street, probably criminals or beggars.

He instinctively swam closer to his two companions, remembering only later that maybe they were the most dangerous of them all, trying to make him trust them just to betray him at the last second. He would have to be careful, especially during the night.

Dolphin knocked at the dirty door, and Percy could have sworn that the entire building trembled. He exchanged a glance with Amphitrite, and Percy felt completely excluded from any kind of decision making again: if he was to stay with them, to trust them… he would need good reasons. 

A lucky escape and then having to follow a plan he had not seen made himself just convinced him more of the contrary. His hand fell to his pockets, and his worry eased a bit when he felt Anaklusmos’ familiar shape under his touch. Whatever happened- he was ready to fight, against impostors and spies and soldiers.

No one came at the door, and after the goddess’ nod Dolphin pushed it open, his hand steady on the dagger, and they all walked inside the dimly-lit hall, with dozens of tables and people drinking and yelling and cheering at a couple of mercentaurs that were dancing in the further corner from the entrance.

With their ratty clothes on, no one even spared them a glance, but Percy’s instincts were all screaming about a nearby danger. He swallowed, and pressed the water a bit closer around himself, trying to calm down: nothing had happened earlier, so maybe he was just stressed and tired, but he wasn’t gonna take any chance.

“We’ll need rooms for tonight,” Dolphin then addresses a fat, old merman, pointing at the goddess and at him.

The merman snorted. “Only got one ‘ere upstairs. Busy, the others you know,” he winked, throwing a glance at the half-dressed dancers on the corner.

Dolphin placed a couple of little coins into his hand. “We’ll take it, and supper if you will.”

“That will be another coin,” the merman stated, squaring them up and down. 

Dolphin hesitated. “Two more in the morning, if we don’t get disturbed tonight.”

The old merman laughed, an ugly sound easily shut by the yells of the crowd. “upstairs, first door,” he answered, then turned his head and shouted at a young mermaid to bring them food in the room.

Percy harshly swallowed again. The horror of working customer service seemed to be universal.

Amphitrite looked at him for the first time since they had left Atlantis, but Percy refused to meet her gaze. What if whoever she was, could also read his thoughts? Something was going to go wrong soon, he could feel it: it was too strong for it to be just the tiredness.

They moved upstairs, and Percy hesitantly followed. The floor was dirty and creaking, the walls were falling apart, and from the feel of the currents he was also positive that there must have been a couple of holes in the roof.

Good thing that there was no rain underwater and that he was capable of warming the water, or it would have been a really atrocious night, out in the northern January air.

“Go in, I’ll wait here for the food,” Dolphin declared, setting himself against the wall next to the door.

Percy’s breath stopped. He didn’t want to get in there with just her. “You need to rest too,” he tried, but Dolphin only gave him a tight smile.

“I will,” he answered, “but you two need to talk first.”

Amphitrite sighed, but she gestured at him to enter and when he hesitantly did, she gently closed the door behind them and went to sit on a small stool while Percy awkwardly hovered by the door.

"Sit," she instructed, but Percy didn't move, nor did he leave his eyes off her for a second. Just a moment of distraction would be fatal, he had figured it out already.

"I don't trust you," he answered, "I don't… we weren't supposed to escape that easily. And your face…"

"You know I am a goddess," she interrupted, "why does it surprise you that I can change my appearance?"

Percy flinched. "Why bother with all the rags then? And if you have powers, why bother with running away? Do you not have enough?"

Amphitrite stared harshly at him, her jaw set straight. "The state of my powers does not-"

"It does concern me!" He yelled, then quieted down when he remembered where they were, "I left everything behind. _Everything_ to come to Atlantis, and everything again now that we are on the run."

"I hate running away," he continued when Amphitrite still stayed silent, "I feel horrible for leaving the people with Bythus, for not having been able to apologize for my role in the poisonings and I will _never_ come to terms with this failing of mine until I know, _for certain,_ that I could have done nothing but escape from Atlantis."

The goddess sighed. "Sit down," she repeated, her voice exhausted, and Percy obeyed more for abitudine than anything else, and sat on the small, uncomfortable bed.

"I was born as a nereid, thousands and thousands of years ago,” she paused, “Have you ever met one?" she asked then, raising her eyes, and Percy nodded.

"Then you've seen that the powers they have on the sea are limited, if they're there at all. I was… more powerful than my sisters’. Less interested in _romance_ ," she chuckled sadly, and Percy looked at her with a questioning expression.

"Your father looked at me and liked what he saw. He was young, full of ideals, full of energy and I… he promised me power, and freedom, and the chance to be queen. Love wasn't a priority of mine. I accepted."

"Even if you knew that…"

"I didn't know. But I could imagine. It has never bothered me like it bothers Hera."

"Or I'd be dead."

She gave him a small smile. "When you became King of the Sea, you became _the_ sea. I don't think you realized this until recently. Maybe disaster could have been avoided if you had. Maybe not. I don't know but- being the sea has increased your powers, your control."

"My powers?" He asked, thinking back on Poseidon's words, "not a god though, right? I can still die. Right?" he repeated, horror slowly creeping into him.

"Not a god no, Percy. But the difference- when you truly were king, was only in your mortality, in your mortal body. In all else…"

"In power I was like a sea god," Percy concluded, astonished. Everything had come easier, but he had thought it had only been the fact that he was underwater was to blame. And not an actual increase of his powers. Not that he had had much time to test them, but still…

Amphitrite nodded. "That's what happened to me when I became Queen. My powers increased, and Poseidon granted me immortality. When he disappeared… I returned to the powers I had had millennials ago. It took time to readjust."

"So now you had the powers you had as a nereid," Percy understood, "but you're still immortal right?"

The goddess nodded. "I don't think that can be truly taken away," she answered, seemingly exhausted. 

But Percy wasn't done with the questions.

"This still doesn't answer why we run. Even if you had no powers- I could have fought Bythus. As king I-"

"But you _weren't_ king anymore, Perseus. Bythus dethroned you and took control of the city, of the palace, of the army. Only the throne's approval was missing, and with you between life and death we couldn't be sure he hadn't acquired it too."

She sighed. "When you woke up, Bythus was _de facto_ more king than you were, in the eyes of the ancient laws. Even without a crown."

"Because he had the Palace, and the army?"

"And the approval of the people, who believed you a murderer when the news of the poisonings came out."

Percy was so tired he felt like crying. He didn't know what to think anymore. Amphitrite seemed sincere, and her story made sense. But his instincts were rarely wrong and they had screamed of danger so incessantly in the last hours. Was he truly just becoming paranoid?

"As I said before, your only limit as King of the Sea was your mortality, the short life span of humans. It limited the exploring of your powers. But ichthyocentaurs live so very long, Perseus, and Bythus has had time to come to know his own powers."

Percy swallowed. Bythus was a tyrant, and he had handed the kingdom to him on a silver platter.

"His power increased again when he took control of the city, while yours decreased since you weren't fully the king anymore. So a fight between you… We couldn't risk it, not with me unable to truly help."

"But it will always be like this. He will always be more powerful and more- more king, especially now that I'm on the run."

She shook her head. "Not if we play our cards well. Me and Dolphin made up a plan when you were recovering."

Percy snapped his head up again, when a delicious smell of meat filled the small room, and his stomach rumbled in hunger.

Dolphin knocked on the door, and entered with a steaming plate, throwing a glance at him half sprawled on the bed and at the goddess sitting composedly on the stool.

"Made peace?" He asked, closing the door behind him. "I checked all the adjacent rooms in the meantime: empty but it won't last. If you haven't finished, it'll have to wait until tomorrow."

Percy nodded. He was too exhausted to listen to anything more for today anyway, and gratefully took the plate Dolphin handed him, almost reassured by the certainty that something would go wrong pretty soon.

.

_“So he is away from the city now,” a deep voice rumbled, “good. It shall make the passing less worrisome.”_

_Percy was standing in the hall in front of his father’s office, his ear pressed to the wooden door. Another ichthyocentaur spoke then, more softly than Bythus, and Percy tried desperately to understand._

_“-soon. It had only-,” a pause then, and the Duke's strong voice echoing through the darkness, “they won’t even remember him,” then the sound of people laughing._

_Percy tried to hear more, but the floor was fading from under his feet, and when he tried to grasp the door his hands passed through the wood, and he was no longer standing in the third floor hall, but in the dimly lit veranda._

_“Flustra!” he called, seeing the boy scrubbing the glass. But the merman couldn’t hear him, and so Percy tried to move forward, to check that he was alright._

_A woman entered, one Percy had never seen, and he stopped. She handed a letter to his old manservant, who quickly hid it under his tunic._

_“Hail King Bythus,” she said then, and Percy’s heart stopped._

_“Hail King Bythus,” Flustra repeated, his voice monotone._

_The scene around him changed again, but Percy didn’t have the energy to care about it. Had he always been a spy? Had he always lied?_

_Had he truly trusted him?_

_Amphitrite stood in front of him, tall and powerful and almost glowing, Poseidon next to her standing proud in front of a younger Atlantis._

_“We’ll build a Kingdom from here,” he stated, and his voice seemed to reverberate all around them, sending shivers in the water. Just how much power had Percy given away?_

_The goddess laughed, and touched her belly. “We’ll build a family first,” she answered, her voice clean and limpid like a mountain’s fall._

_Cities rose, and empires fell. Dynasties were wiped out, languages forgotten._

_Percy heard the desperate prayers of drowning seamen, falling one after one in the water next to him, while their ship sank lower and lower. He swam towards a man close to him, trying to haul him out, to bring at least one of them to safety._

_His hands passed through the man’s body. “No,” Percy begged, “please, no”. But the man kept falling, and flaring, and trying to breathe an air that wasn’t there anymore. He opened his eyes, and locked them with Percy’s for a moment._

_They filled with fear, then they closed again, and Percy screamed._

_And screamed. And screamed, until his throat was raw, and he was kneeling on a cold linoleum floor._

_Blue like-_

_A baby was crying. Percy heaved, and raised himself from the ground just to see a small cot slightly rocking in front of him. He walked towards it._

_The baby kept crying, but no one was coming for him. “They left you all alone, little boy?” Percy asked, tentatively trying to caress the child but knowing his hand would pass through him as it had done before._

_His fingers gently grazed the baby’s cheek. Warm, and tear-wet, Percy noted with surprise. He could touch the baby. Why could he-_

_The child opened his eyes. Percy’s eyes. There was a small octopus peluche next to him, and his hand was glowing gold._

_“The golden light I remembered,” he murmured, looking at himself and at the room he had never lived in. Maybe his mum's old house?_

_The baby opened his mouth, but didn’t cry. “He will not last long,” Bythus’ deep voice echoed in the small room, and Percy abruptly distanced himself from the cot._

_Had the baby spoken? Had he spoken?_

_The words kept echoing, louder and louder. Percy tried to leave, but the room had no door._

_The baby started crying again._

_“Let me out!” Percy screamed, “Let me out!”_

_Bythus’ voice was loud, so loud the words barely made any sense anymore._

_No one came for the baby. No one was there to listen to Percy’s screams of terror.  
No one came. No one had ever come._

_It had always been just him._

.

He awoke with a silent gasp, out of breath. The room was dark, but he still could make out Dolphin and Amphitrite’s silhouettes from where they had fallen into a deep slumber. They had left him the bed, he noted with surprise. And they hadn’t attacked him as soon as he had fallen asleep.

Did it mean that they truly meant him no harm? Percy couldn’t be sure, not after the horrible nightmare he had had, but his talk with Amphitrite _had_ eased his fears a bit.

He got up on the bed, giving up on sleeping more for that night. The dream had upset him greatly: Flustra’s alleged betrayal, then Bythus’ words coming out of his younger self, the man dying in his arms and him unable to… to…

He swallowed harshly, and silently got out of the bed. He could run away, he suddenly thought. He could leave, leave all of this behind, and hide in the mortal world. He could disappear.

He threw a glance at where the goddess was resting. She had said they had a plan. Would it work? Would the risk be worth it?

He was her only hope to regain her family, he knew that, and he felt ashamed of his own desire to not care about it at all. How could he abandon the ones that had hauled him as King, even for a little while?

He could feel the crispy currents gently splash against the inn’s wall. Just a taste then, he decided, a minute of fresh air and then he’d be back

He softly walked towards the door, and opened it with a last glance at his two companions. There wasn’t time to hesitate. He gently closed the door behind him, and stepped into the dirty hallway, which seemed even creepier without the lights.

One of the doors was slightly ajar, but Percy ignored it, and moved towards the stairs, down to the inn’s main hall where he could hear the soft murmur of voices.

He moved towards them, almost in trance, then stopped. He was human. He was human looking. He couldn’t mingle with them: they would recognize him immediately, and there was no way to know if they were on Bythus’ side or his.

A shiver ran through him. Poor people, with nothing to lose- they wouldn’t care about politics. They would be on the side of money, and he had quite a big ransom on his head. Why had he come out at all? He should get back into the room before anyone noticed him, he thought.

There was a backdoor though, next to him, and he could feel the sea calling him from the outside. There didn’t seem to be any danger nearby- all of his instincts were silent, and even the inn didn’t seem that creepy anymore.

He moved towards the door. Why had he been so worried before? There was nothing to be anxious about. The currents were gentle and calm, and they rocked him like a mother would do to her child. 

There was a soft light coming from the outside: Percy pushed the ajar door open, and froze in surprise. “Wow,” he muttered, and fully stepped out, planting his feet firmly on the deep sea floor.

Jellyfishes, of all colours and sizes were roaming around him and above him, enlightening the dark and gloomy sea of purples and yellows and greens.

It was like stepping into an illustration of a fantastical world. “Wow,” Percy repeated, unable to take his eyes off the trail of the lights. A purple jellyfish moved towards him, and Percy raised his hand in a caress.

The animal was bursting with dormant power.

“They’re beautiful, are they not?” a voice spoke behind him, and Percy quickly turned around and came face to face with the owner of the inn, who looked straight at him.

He swallowed his fear. He had surely been recognized- but the merman didn’t seem hostile. Not yet, at least. And if he attacked, he always had Anaklusmos with him.

“Yes,” he answered softly, “I had never seen anything like them.”

The man nodded, and moved forward. A couple of jellyfishes reached him immediately, but he ignored them. “They are only here,” he answered, “not to be found anywhere else.”

“Why?” Percy asked, before he could stop himself.

The merman shook his head. “There is a legend,” he answered, “an old tale that has been passed down from generation to generation. My family's most guarded secret, kept safe for thousands of years.”

He sighed, and looked at Percy straight into the eyes. “I know who you are,” he continued, “the sea is big, but news travels fast. You look like-” he paused.

“Like?” Percy pressed, feeling himself drawn to the man. The merman shook his head, his expression pained.

“I knew you’d come here. They all stop here.”

“All whom?” Percy asked, knowing he wouldn’t get an answer. Dolphin had chosen a random village, hadn’t him? Or maybe not, and it was all a ploy: if this man knew he’d be here… had he told anybody? Were Bythus’ guards coming for their heads?

“This is an ancient village, you know,” the merman went on, still not touching the jellyfishes, “it was one of the firsts ever. My forefathers founded this inn.”

Percy remained silent, even if he was bursting with the desire to press for more information. The innkeeper had seemed a drunkie old man at first, but now in the sea of lights he looked noble. He looked royal, and wise.

“You should get back into your room,” the merman advised, “your… companions will not sleep much longer. You had no choice but come here- but the inn’s other guests would call for the Duke without a moment’s hesitation.”

Percy’s first thought was one of relief: the innkeeper was on his side. The second… “I had no choice in coming here?” he asked, panicked.

He truly, truly didn’t like this complete lack of control he had on the whole situation.

The merman eyed the glowing animals. “Didn’t you follow their call?” he asked, “have you not found yourself here, relaxed as you hadn’t been before?”

Percy’s panicked expression answered for him. “How did-”

“I hope you won’t see them again,” the merman stated, moving towards the door again.

“But they all did?”

The merman didn’t even turn towards him. “Go back up,” he instructed, and gestured at Percy to cross the threshold again.

He threw another glance at the glittering lights, and stepped back into the inn. The merman closed the door behind them, then slightly opened it again, leaving it ajar as Percy had found it.

His eyes were drawn to the outside again. But where there had been lights- he could only see darkness.

The merman smiled. “What is of the sea always returns to it, and is forever kept.”

Percy nodded, almost in trance again, and found himself alone in the silent hallway with more questions than ever before. 

It would be time to leave soon- and he still didn’t know where to place his trust. Amphitrite had confided in him earlier though, had given an explanation and a promise to include him more in the planning of things: maybe it was time to give her another chance.

_Yes_ , Percy thought, _but the last one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day late but I'm here!  
> This will be the last chapter of 2020, so Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! I hope it will be a joyous period for all of you, even in this difficult year.  
> As always, thank you for reading! If you feel like it- let me know what you thought of the chapter: reading your comments always fills me with joy, and it motivates me to continue writing! <3


	14. Year II - Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really excited about this chapter... enjoy!

They moved out of the inn in the early morning, in those soft hours when people are either sleeping or too tired to distinguish between dreams and reality.

The currents were still cold around him, but Percy welcomed the sensation as a distraction from his recurring thoughts about the events of the previous day. Amphitrite’s explanations, his decision to give her the benefit of the doubt, the mysterious meeting with the innkeeper: all concurred in making him jumpy, and exhausted.

His instincts had screamed of danger for hours- but nothing had happened. Were they failing him too? 

They swam in silence far from the main roads. Dolphin threw side glances at him and Amphitrite every now and then, and the goddess looked worried, but always slightly shook her head at the general.

Percy didn’t care. He wished to return to the inn’s backyard to be surrounded by the colorful jellyfishes again: he hadn’t felt that peace, that calm in a very long time and now he had been forced to leave it behind, as he had done with all the things he had loved.

His home, his mother, his friends, _Annabeth_. Atlantis even, with her complicated passageways and beautifully decorated rooms, with the cold, marble throne and his ancient Emblems. Flustra, and the soft hands that had unbuttoned his jacket and his shirt, the warmth of his breath close to his own and the tenderness of his laugh when they had fallen between thousands of cushions.

Flustra, who was a liar and a traitor, and who had used him to gain information. Flustra, who now bowed to Bythus and called him King. Did he rouse the Duke with the same tone he had once used with him? Did he reassure him with the same words?

The currents around him tethered, and Percy felt the deep waters of the open sea call to him. There were sharks nearby, and a little village a few miles on the west surrounded by anemones. 

He had never been in that part of the sea, but he actually had been to very few places: in his time as King they had kept him between the safe walls of the city, and before he had never known how far, how deep he was allowed to go, how long he could stay without his half-siblings attacking him.

There was no Poseidon now, no gods who could tell him what to do. It should have brought him freedom, but it only felt lonely instead.

“Where are we going, exactly?” he asked Dolphin, just to break the uncomfortable silence. There was only one logical place to go to, so far up North, where they would be safe for a little while.

“We’ll ask for asylum at the court of the Duke of the Northern Sea,” the general answered, “Duke Phaidros. I believe you’ve met his sister? She spoke favorably of you to him.”

“The Countess of Fladen Ground, yes,” Percy recalled, “we spoke at my Coronation. The works of her husband were extremely enlightening, especially considering how young he actually wrote them.”

“The ones on the treatment of mercentaurs?” Amphitrite asked, swimming closer to him so that she could speak quietly.

Percy nodded. “He spoke of greater opportunities in the job field, of a better education for those who can sustain one and of a program of monetary help for those who can’t either live in the wild or work. It’s impressive.”

Amphitrite smiled, and it seemed almost real. “It’s not a bad topic to be passionate about,” she commented, “even if quite a complicated one. _When_ you’ll return back on the throne,” she stressed, “we’ll set down a plan for it, what do you think?”

Percy turned towards her, surprised by her total support. “Why would you help me?” he asked, thinking about how it had been impossible to change anything in the months he had been here. Surely this chance wouldn’t be free.

She stared right into him. “When have I not helped you?” she questioned, and Percy tore his eyes away, regretting the harsh way his words had come out.

“I didn’t mean-” he started, but the goddess just shook her head and distanced herself, ending their conversation.

Percy swallowed down a sigh. She had helped him navigate court and protocol yes, but he still felt hurt by her hand in his months-long isolation from his friends and family. It wasn’t her fault that him and Annabeth had broken up, but some nights he could do nothing but wonder how things would have gone if they had had the chance to exchange letters during his stay in Atlantis.

He would have found strength in her words, in her reassurances. He would have written I love you at the bottom of them, not even questioning if he meant it or not, he would have read of her attempts at breaking the curse.

He would have never been strong enough to let go and let her have her life.

Dolphin swam closer to him. “This situation is stressing for everyone,” he admonished, “and I know that you’re just a boy and this may seem like one of your other quests- but there are three quarters of the planet at stake.”

“I know,” Percy hastily answered, “it’s just that you- you all keep treating me as a child. I’m not. I’ve been into Tartarus. If I had even a shred of innocence left, that surely took it away. You don’t have to shield me from the fact that we’re on the run, without allies and without an army.”

Dolphin sighed. “There is more of war than battles,” he started, “but I shall do my best to include you more in our plans. You are the King I have pledged my allegiance to, after all. We’re on your side.”

Percy nodded. It always reassured something in him to actually _hear_ approval instead of just assuming it, to have a vocal reminder that he had people in his corner. When those people were your father’s wife and his most trusted general then…

“Do you really think Duke Phaidros will help us?” he asked.

Dolphin’s expression was tight. “He won’t sell us out to Bythus. But whether he’ll actively help or remain neutral… the Northern Duchy has always wished for greater independence from the Kingdom. Phaidros could use this opportunity to bargain for it with Bythus and avoid a war, or maybe he won’t trust him to create stability and help us.”

Percy thought about it. If they wanted to have any hope of receiving support, they couldn’t go there as beggars.

“Would we have something to offer him in exchange for his aid?” he asked Dolphin, but it was Amphitrite who answered, from the other side of the general.

“There are no more counties we can give, not when he already has eight. Maybe we could discuss giving them autonomy in the handling of certain issues when you’ll be back on the throne, but it’s likely they would want something more immediate.”

“A permanent alliance would be the best solution,” Dolphin interjected, with the tone of someone who had repeated it a million times.

Amphitrite glared at him. “We’ll see when we get there,” she said, and closed off the topic.

.

They met Bythus’ royal guards on their third day on the run.

It had started off quite alike the other days- they had slept outside, covered by the sea flora and by faithful fishes who had continued their routine and ignored them.

Percy’s back had ached all morning from the uncomfortable position he had been stuck into, and even if in the sea he had more energy, he was starting to feel exhausted by the fast and constant swimming. He had never traveled for so long underwater, and his muscles were untrained for such a strain.

The others, obviously, faced much better, having lived in the sea all their lives, but Percy had had no intention of admitting he was finding the pace of the journey too tiring: he would have just gritted his teeth and continued, as he had always done.

Body aching and all of that.

But then, of course, things hadn’t gone according to plan.

No one had, apparently, thought of a plan on how to pass the _border_ to the Northern Duchy, controlled by Bythus’s soldiers strategically placed near a heavily populated area, so that Percy could leave ideas of mass destruction out of his mind.

The only way to cross into the Northern Duchy was to pass unrecognized through the city gates, then across the city itself, then out of the city gates and then through the heavily controlled border: they had noticed the guards too late in the entrance queue for them to be able to get out of it without drawing attention to themselves.

“Wasn’t the border like this before?” Percy quietly asked, and he felt Amphitrite shook her head.

“People generally passed from the city before crossing it, but it wasn’t mandatory.” she paused, turning to look at him, “Think of this city as your mortal airports malls- there are shops selling typical foods, gifts to bring relatives in other duchies, or even just shops where to buy warmer clothes for the cold northern climate. It was kind of...as you say, a touristic stop?”

Percy nodded. It made sense. “I understand. But if now all must pass from here…” he looked around himself, searching for the right words, “there aren’t as many people as I would expect.”

“It’s a very unstable period, Percy,” Dolphin interjected, “folks know that civil war is not a very distant possibility. They’re scared. They’re not really in the mood for holidays.”

“And there are other cities like this,” Amphitrite added, “the border is quite wide.”

“Alright,” he started, trying to quiet down his anxiety, “ideas on how to get past it?”

Dolphin squared his shoulders. “We’ll try to pass without raising suspicions. And if we can’t…there shouldn’t be too many guards, and we’ll be out of their reach as soon as we manage to cross.”

“So we’ll fight,” Percy concluded, “good. I haven’t trained all that time to just observe.”

“You’re still far from good at fighting underwater though,” Amphitrite observed quietly, “don’t take offence,” she then added, “but you’ve been here just six months, and you have yet to be used to the difference from land.”

“So don’t be cocky,” Dolphin commanded, “we’ll all fight, but at the first sign of trouble, you run to the Duke’s Palace.”

“I won’t leave you here!”

“You will, if necessary,” Amphitrite ordered, her tone made of steel. “Promise us you will.”

“Or?” Percy challenged, staring at them. What cards did they have against him?

“Or I will knock you out cold just here, just now and carry you across the border in a sack of flour,” Dolphin threatened, placing his hand on top of where Percy knew his dagger was.

“I’d fight you,” he answered.

“A fight in the entrance queue,” Amphitrite deadpanned, “who would ever notice it?”

Percy crossed his arms, and Dolphin sighed.

“You need to understand that your life is not just yours now, Perseus. It’s of the entire Kingdom, and it needs to be preserved with the utmost care. _You can not be taken by Bythus._ If you are, he'll kill you, and he’ll make a show of it, don’t doubt it, then he will destroy what your father has worked for millennials to build.”

“And neither Poseidon, nor my children will ever be able to come back. Do you want Bythus and his line to sit in your father’s throne on Olympus for the rest of eternity?”

Percy flinched. He hated how _big_ the whole situation looked when put on those terms. He had managed to cope thinking of a day at the time, but this… this was more than he could comprehend, and make his. How many times had they repeated it to him? How many times he still wouldn’t _grasp_ the fact that his life now was their number one priority?

“I promise I’ll run away, if necessary,” he mumbled, and saw the goddess nod next to him.

In the meantime, they had almost arrived at the city’s door, and the queue was thinning in front of them.

“There doesn’t seem to be guards,” Percy noted, looking at both sides of the giant entrance.

“They’re not at ground level,” Dolphin answered, “look in the turrets. They’re marching all around the walls.”

“Archers,” Percy concluded, and Amphitrite nodded. “They’ll ask for the documents at the exit, for sure. Let’s just be ready.”

The queue went on again, and Percy’s instincts were on fire.

They moved forward. They reached the door.

The guards didn’t shoot. Didn’t even seem to notice they were there.

They passed through the door, and were swiftly engulfed in the chaos of the city, full of people and merchants.

Percy let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “It won’t be too difficult to pass unnoticed, with all these people,” he whispered, and Dolphin smiled tightly.

“The worst part is yet to come,” he answered.

 _Way to raise morals_ , Percy thought, but he didn’t protest when Amphitrite grabbed his arm to swim with him and make sure they didn’t get separated in the crowd: the last thing he needed was to find himself alone to handle the whole situation.

The square in front of the entrance door was enormous, and it bursted with life, and colours. Percy was loving it, despite everything: it looked like the neighbourhoods of Atlantis he had never been allowed to visit, those with _real people_ living in it, not posh nobles.

Percy had grown up in a poor part of Manhattan. For how many crowns and titles they could style on him, he would never truly _be_ one of them. Or at least, a part of him hoped so. Hoped that he would not let himself be changed too much.

He was going to ask Amphitrite how many actually lived in that city, when a horrible screeching sound interrupted him. He turned around, but he couldn’t see anything: people had started to push, and yell, and curse, and he looked questioningly at Dolphin.

The screeching sound continued.

“They’re closing the doors,” Amphitrite’s panicked voice cut through the noise, “they’re closing us inside.”

“We need to get out of here before we get trampled,” she then hissed, tightening her hold on his arm and pushing towards the main street out of the square and turning left, and then right, and then left again.

“Do you think they recognized us?” Percy turned to ask Dolphin, who was stuck between strangers pressing against him from all sides.

He didn’t answer him. “Amphitrite where are we going?” he asked instead, freeing himself from the two mermen, “it’s not safe to stay between the mob, the guards-”

“I know it’s not safe,” she interrupted, “I’m trying to find some kind of back alley but I’ve only passed from here once, and with high honours. Surely not in the middle of-”

“Just follow me then,” Percy interjected, “I know how to distinguish a good part of the city from a bad one. I’ll find an empty corner where we can stay until the situation calms down.”

“You’ve never been here,” Dolphin accused, at the same moment that Amphitrite answered “Alright.”

They looked at each other, but Percy didn’t wait for an answer and grabbed both of their arms.

The people were running wildly around. “They closed the exit too!”, someone yelled, while others were closing himself in their houses, doubly locking the doors.

Dolphin swore, while Percy quickly tried to move them away from the main streets.

“They can’t do that,” Amphitrite murmured, looking up, “it’s illegal. We made it illegal.”

“Your laws have no power anymore,” Dolphin answered. “Bythus is a tyrant. You know how he has ruled the South all these years.”

“Yes but this-,” she swallowed harshly, “Dolphin there must be _thousands_ of his own people here, and the guards can’t even have been sure it was really us and-”

“I know,” Dolphin said, and he sounded scared, “maybe Percy will be able to keep it out of the bubble”

“The bubble?” he asked, only half-listening. Moving through the hordes of people and trying to find a quieter spot was an all-consuming activity. He couldn’t afford distractions.

“But he can’t!” Amphitrite exclaimed, “they’d know he’s here immediately, and they’d call for reinforcements. We can’t know how long he’d be able to hold it, or even if he can at all, and while fighting, even!”

“He could just do it for us then,” Dolphin proposed, and Amphitrite sighed.

“You think he would?” she asked, and Dolphin stomped his tail in frustration.

“Then we die,” he said, just as Percy turned into a dimly-lit alley, full of algae and plastic but empty of people.

He stopped there, and let go of their arms. He was exhausted, and while the alley was empty, it was not quiet: the screams and yells of the people could still be heard, and even the sound of smashing windows. 

“What’s the bubble?” he repeated.

“Sea cities are enclosed also from above, having just perimetral walls would not make sense when you can safely bypass them by not swimming at ground level,” Dolphin answered, and Percy remembered suddenly to have read it in his studies.

“Ah yes, and to protect the city from the harsher currents,” he added, and the general nodded, but didn’t go on.

Percy looked at Amphitrite. “They’re sealing all of us inside. The guards might have been waiting for us. Maybe we had been followed, or recognized without us noticing. It doesn’t matter,” she then added, “it’s too late.”

“But they’ll reopen them eventually, no? Or we can just fight the guards as we had said.”

“The guards will have stayed outside,” Dolphin answered, “do you remember how the war in Mar de Grau ended in the thirteenth century?”

Percy’s mind went blank. He didn’t even remember having studied such a war. He shook his head, and Dolphin’s shoulders slumped even more.

“With a siege of the main fortress,” he explained, “the inhabitants had resources, and they were stubborn. The besieging army was getting restless, the… the generals knew the men wouldn’t remain obediently for long”

His voice trembled. “The bubble worked, and still works, as a way to filter the fresh water that is entering the city and expel the old one, to make sure there is always enough oxygen to breathe in comfortably,” he paused and Percy nodded at his explanation, urging him on.

Amphitrite placed a hand on his arm as a gesture of comfort, and the old general hesitantly continued.

“We-” he flinched, “they put poison in the bubble’s filters. The clean water was all expelled and substituted with the toxic one in the matter of an hour or so. All the inhabitants died...the women, the children- they all drowned slowly, with agonizing screams, begging for mercy.”

Dolphin was now basically hugging himself. “You were there?” Percy asked, but his pained expression was answer enough. It had been centuries, and he still carried heavy with him the weight of what he had done, of what he had seen.

“There was no law against it at the time,” Amphitrite gently added, “but your father made it illegal for his army to ever do such a thing again. No matter how badly we were losing- it never happened again.”

Percy nodded. For how much his morals told him he should feel at least a little hate for the old general… he only felt pity, and hated the fact that he _understood_ , that he didn’t think it was something he would ever do but… he wasn’t even naive enough to think that the sea was a stranger to slaughters, and genocides.

“And you’re sure this is what they’re doing now?” he asked, still not fully grasping the seriety of the situation, “maybe they’ll just send the guards in to look for us, and have closed everything not to let us escape.”

Amphitrite looked hopeful at Dolphin, but he just shook his head in defeat. “The screeching sound-” he stated, “the screeching sound of before weren’t the doors closing. I still have it impressed in my mind from-” he paused, “-it was the sound of the filters being tempered with.”

Percy slumped to the ground, and between the chaos of a dying city, he closed his eyes and prayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the plot goes on...
> 
> Thank you as always for all your kudos and your lovely comments! Reading your words is always one of the best parts of my day. I hope you all had a good festive period, and that all your loved ones stayed safe!


	15. Year II - Part V

“I think I’ll be able to keep the poison out of the water,” Percy declared, resisting the urge to hug his knees to his chest, “I’ve controlled poison before. It’s a bit tiring, but I’ll manage.”

“They will know we’re here,” Amphitrite opposed, but there was no real conviction in it.

Dolphin shook his head anyway. “They already do,” he answered, “the most important thing is to find a way to open the doors quickly now: you can keep the poison out but there still will be no fresh water and with this many people…”

Amphitrite sighed. “I think we’ll need to risk it, and try to rally the people to us. Dolphin, we’ll go back to the main square, and we’ll drop all these rags. I am the former Queen of Atlantis, and you are its greatest general.”

“What if they’re on Bythus’s side?” Percy asked.

“Bythus, the one who is currently trying to kill them and their families?” she shook her head, “even if they liked him better than you… they won’t betray me. I was loved once, as more than Poseidon’s wife.”

“You need to go towards the exit doors,” Dolphin added then, “and do your best to keep the poison out of the way. As soon as we open the doors then, you run.”

Percy stood up, a protest dying on his lips. He had promised he would save himself, but only if strictly necessary. If he had a way he would…

“You’re not coming inside to check on us, you’re not going to look for us in the crowd. Across the border, you’ll be safe from Bythus’ laws but not from those loyal to him. Run straight to the Duke’s palace. Alright?”

He nodded. There was no time to argue.

“If we don’t see each other again,” he said while giving a last look at Amphitrite, now looking again as she did as a goddess, “thank you.”

Dolphin grabbed his arm, and squeezed. Amphitrite smiled.

“Go,” she murmured, and Percy did.

.

The filters hadn’t been poisoned for long enough for the water to be already polluted, but the people were already screaming, and despairing.

Percy swam as fast as he could between them, trying to ignore their cries and their prayers. He would be able to help them, he would be able to save all of them.

He needed to convince himself of that.

The sound of waves hitting the shore rang through his ears while he tried to concentrate himself on the poison, trying to sense it in the water.

He was King, once. He was the sea, he was _of_ the sea. Molded by currents, shaped by hurricanes, trained by the best the waters could offer.

The people seemed to quiet down around him, while he kneeled in an alley close to where the border was. He concentrated on the burning feeling he had felt when he had touched his father’s throne on Olympus and then _his_ throne in Atlantis, on the flames that had run through his veins.

 _Power,_ he thought, he needed _more._

(The ocean is more than a hundred million square miles wide. The ocean is thousands of leagues deep, and cold, and unforgiving. What it wants, it takes. What it takes, it keeps)

(The ocean has forgotten how to be young, but Percy was a child not so long ago and there is a wilderness in youth, a wilderness that can never be tamed.)

The world stopped.

Percy felt _everything._ Dozens, dozens of currents crushing against the walls of the city, clean, vibrant water opposed to the sickly one that was spreading inside the bubble. Thousands of fishes, thousands of merpeople and ichthyocentaurs and everything in between, breathing, crying, living.

His body felt on fire, every inch on it bursting with light. He hadn’t used his powers on such a massive scale since the Mount Saint Helena disaster. He hadn’t dared to but now… the poison had no place there.

What the sea takes, it keeps, the innkeeper had said.

(but what happens to what is not wanted?)

People were chanting something. It seemed like a song, it felt like a prayer. Percy hoped that Amphitrite and Dolphin were succeeding in their plan, that the doors would open soon and they all could be safe and that he could stop and-.

He breathed.

The soldiers kept pouring poison in the screeching filters, but Percy tried to focus only on the sound of his heart, beating at the rhythm of the crashing waves on the beach of Montauk. He thought of the calm he felt there, and in his memories it’s always sunset, and his mother is always laughing, her long, curly hair dancing freely in the golden light, and he’s running and grinning and he feels invincible.

Time passes. Minutes, hours, he could not say.

The doors rattled, the people sang.

The poison remained high, high on the bubble’s top, creating the effect of a threatening black cloud all above the city. Percy’s body was on fire, but he felt unbound, without limits.

Children of the sea are born in storms and annealed in tempests. What can a cloud do against a hurricane?

He felt like laughing, like he bore the curse of Achilles all over again.

The chant changed. They were trying to throw down the doors, to destroy the walls surrounding the city, all of the people working together.

Amphitrite and Dolphin had succeeded, or so it seemed, to rally the crowd, but there wasn’t enough oxygen in the water for all of those people, not when they fatigued and yelled and sang.

They needed to hurry in destroying-

What had Chiron told him, when he had been claimed?

_Poseidon. Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus, Son of the Sea God._

Earthshaker.

The walls were tall and wide, their building strong and well made had resisted against the harsher currents for centuries.

Percy concentrated on the space where the foundations end, where there is only sand, and rocks. Where the bottom of the ocean touches the Earth.

 _Shake_ , he commanded, _I am your lord. I am you. Quiver before me._

His body burned so prettily, it was almost a shame that it needed to stop. The outer walls tumbled down, the turrets with them, and the bubble cracked with a horrible sound.

People were cheering.

Who had said that he _needed_ to stop?

The walls crashed down, and the houses were next, all around him they buried folk and ground alike, while the currents rampaged through the rooms of abandoned shops now that the outer bubble no longer stopped them.

There is always beauty in destruction and he was-

-unbound. 

The cheers turned to terror, the chants into screams of fear. He had saved them, he had stopped them from drowning and destroyed their sieging army, so why were they not happy? Why were they not thanking him?

All of the sea was at his disposal, all of its strength was in his fingertips and he felt drunk and giddy with it. Even the burning was nice, even if it hurt, even if it reminded him of-

“Foolish boy,” a woman said somewhere above him, “foolish, desperate boy”

A cold hand on his cheek. He opened his eyes, but there was only whiteness around him, and he panicked, the sound of waves in his ears becoming louder and louder.

“You need to stop,” the voice continued, “if you burn through it all there will be no going back, Perseus, do you understand?”

He didn’t. He was the sea, and the sea didn’t want to stop, the currents wanted destruction and the earth wanted to quake and how could he say no to them if he too was of them?

“Let it go, now. Let it go, son of Sally Jackson.”

Whiteness. And then-

Sally- mother. _His_ mother. Human. Not of the sea.

Not for the sea to be controlled.

“Just focus on my hands, just breathe,” the voice repeated, and Percy slowly tried to return to his forgotten body, feeling his knees painfully pushing on the scratching ground and-

Silence, silence, silence.

Whiteness, and not even the memory of the comforting dark.

.

_“What do you want to be when you grow up?”_

_“A pirate! I’ll take a boat and go to see the whole world!”_

_“Oh, and what about your mother? You’d leave her alone?”_

_“She can come with me! We’ll always stay together, and we’ll have fun”_

_._

_“That’s mine”_

_“There isn’t your name on it”_

_“It’s still mine!”_

_“If there isn’t your name in it, then it’s of everyone”_

_“You could just have asked”_

_“Come on, you can have half.”_

_._

_“Did you see her?”_

_“Of course I did, everyone was staring”_

_“She’s pretty, is she not?”_

_“If you say so”_

_“You’re blushing!”_

_“I’m not. Shut up.”_

_“Ohhh, you totally are!”_

_._

_“Have you tried the new pizza place?”_

_“The one next to the hairdresser?”_

_“Mh, yeah I think there is a hairdresser there somewhere. They say it’s good anyway.”_

_“We can try it tonight”_

_“Good. Don’t really feel like cooking, you know? The metro smelled of onions”_

_“Who’s desperate enough to eat onions in the metro?”_

.

He opened his eyes expecting to find himself staring at the white ceiling of his room, the image of his mother wishing him good night still impressed behind his eyelids.

He felt very, very young, but his body was on a stranger’s bed.

He blinked, the memories of the last months crushing into him again and leaving him dizzy and aching. He hated not knowing where he was, and it had been happening quite too often in the last weeks.

“So it is true that you destroyed Hallmer?” a female voice asked somewhere next to him, and Percy turned his head and met the eyes of a beautiful, long haired mermaid.

She looked young, too.

“What?” he asked groggily, still disoriented, “where am I? Who are you?”

“So many questions,” she laughed, “my father did say you were a noisy one.”

“Your father?”

“Just sleep a little more, you’ll feel better.”

She led him back down, and took his hair out of his face. Her hands were cold, but in a comforting way, like a lotion on a sunburn.

Percy slept, and dreamt of her.

.

“Duke Phaidros has been exceptionally kind,” Amphitrite was saying, “his help in this moment of need will not be forgotten.”

A male voice answered something he didn’t grasp, and the goddess took his hand in hers, and squeezed. Percy tried to do the same but- his body didn’t move. Not even a little bit. He panicked, and forced his eyes open to see-

-his body, laying still on a bed, Amphitrite next to it and him, him above all of that, somewhere near the ceiling of the room.

What the fuck?

He looked at his hands, translucent in the white light of the room. He could see behind them, as if they were made of nothing, as if he were...a ghost.

Fear filled the body he no longer had but still felt. But he couldn’t be dead. They would have noticed, he reasoned, they wouldn’t keep his dead body on display hoping for a miracle, Amphitrite wouldn’t be squeezing his hand, and he wouldn’t be able to feel it.

So his body was still alive but he was out of it. His soul? Or was he just a different projection of the self, like gods who are in different places at the same time?

Like gods. Was that a thought. He had felt like one, he admitted shakily to himself while he stared at his scarred body, he had felt power run through his veins and he hadn’t been able to _not_ enjoy it.

And so he hadn’t stopped, and he had destroyed… how the mermaid had called the city? Hallmark, his brain supplied, you slaughtered an army, killed some of your own people, destroyed the livelihoods of the others and sent Bythus a giant note with written “I am in the Northern Duchy” highlighted in bright yellow.

He swallowed, moving towards his body. Would it truly be so bad if he died now?

 _You made a promise,_ he reminded himself, and he owed Amphitrite to at least try to fix things in the kingdom, even if he felt crushed by guilt and shame, by the failure of not being even able to control himself.

He never wanted to wield that much power anymore.

The other merman had left the room, and now only him and Amphitrite remained.

“Can you hear me?” he asked, but she kept staring at his empty body, at the constant rise and fall of his chest.

She touched his face, and he felt warm fingers on his cheek, so tender that it almost moved him to tears.

“Foolish boy,” she repeated, “we had it handled,” she murmured, and then softly chuckled, “You’ve made an impression on the Duke with your _stunt,_ ” she said, accentuating her last word, “he has made us a good deal. The end of this mess might be nearer than we thought.”

A pause, a heartbeat.

“So please wake up,” she added, her voice breaking. There was a single tear rolling down her face, and Percy couldn’t handle the sudden anguish that took hold of his heart.

He reached for his body, and tried to enter in it again, concentrating on feeling the soft covers and his steady heart and the comfortable cushions.

He closed his eyes with the sensation of flying, but when he opened them he was still standing beside the bed, staring at himself.

“It’s not that easy,” a deep voice rumbled behind him, and Percy turned in an instant and found himself staring right into the King of the Underworld's eyes.

“Uncle,” Percy called, the old fear letting itself be felt again. How could he have entered his domain?

His expression was tight, but if the title had bothered him he didn’t let it show. “You have made quite a mess of things, as always,” he accused, without any real malice.

“Is this my soul?” Percy asked, gesturing at his translucent body, and Hades stared at him as if he knew exactly what Percy was actually asking.

“Mortals,” he slowly started, “become gods by burning their mortality. Gods don’t have souls.”

 _That explains much_ , he wanted to say, but he didn’t think he could afford it in the situation he was. 

“But I’m not a god,” Percy punctualized, when Hades didn’t seem intentioned to continue talking.

He snorted. “Could have fooled me,” he said, “hadn’t you slaughtered a city.”

Percy’s heart sank. “I lost control. I… all of them? I wanted to- I wanted to help them.”

There must have been too much anguish in his face for the god to bear, because he sighed and brought his hands to his temples, slowly massaging them.

“No. Most of the guards, half a dozen of civilians.” he looked at him again, and added “that’s not the point though. The point is that you could have. That in the moment you _decided_ that you wanted more power, you were able to just acquire it.”

“It’s because I’m in the sea, because I still officially have the Crown and-”

“-and that has made you less human than you were before.”

Percy swallowed, his hands trembling. He looked at his broken body on the white bed, at his peaceful, childish face, and he felt Hades’ eyes follow his ones on his unconscious form.

“So what happens now?”

“Now you can choose,” Hades stated, “there are actually no precedents for this, as is always with you,” he added under his breath, “you can die. Meet your friends in Elysium and leave this mess behind for someone else to clear up.”

“Or?” Percy asked, and Hades sighed.

“If you had kept using that much power, you would have died or you would have turned into a god. There is no telling until it happens. So if you don’t choose to die now...”

“I become a god?” Percy asked, feeling sick in his stomach.

Hades stared straight into him. “I don’t think so,” he explained, “the process was interrupted. You’re half dead now,” he said gesturing to the bed, “and half god,” he finished, gesturing at him.

He wasn’t making any sense to Percy’s overworked brain. “What’s my other choice then? Apart from dying, I mean.”

“You can live,” the god answered, “but you cannot live as a mortal. You’re not a demigod, you’re not a god,” he sighed, “you’ve burned enough that if you leave the center of your power you will die, and enough that if you remain in it, you might just never do.”

He closed and opened his hands again, trying to regain control of himself and not burst into tears in front of the king of the underworld. He opened his mouth to _ask_ , what exactly it meant, but the words didn’t come out, only a guttural sound that resembled a sob too much for his liking.

Hades squared him up and down, his obsidian eyes reminding him of Nico’s ones. 

“If you remain where your power is stronger, in your domain,” he explained softly, “you will probably age really slowly or not at all, and it’s likely you wouldn’t be able to die, unless killed. But-” he continued, taking note of Percy’s short breaths, “if you leave,” he paused again, “if you leave you will die, as mortals do.”

A heartbeat passed. Then two, and three, and four, until… “So I can die? I will, one day?”

“Someone will smither you one day, I guess,” Hades answered, lazily drawing out his words, “even if I’m not half as hopeful as you that you will one day start creating messes in my realm.”

Percy gave him a small smile. Hades had been helpful, he had to admit it, probably much more than any god, apart from Amphitrite, had ever been. More than his father, who had given him ambiguous answers and an impossible job.

Maybe he just felt sorry that Percy would never again see the _real_ , human world. Hades was allowed into the mortal world, but never truly accepted: their exiles were different but brought out the same result, a life in the shadows, a life hidden from view underground and under the sea.

Percy thought of the vibrant green of trees, of that particular shade that in the sea just didn’t exist. He thought about the glittering of stars in the night, about the warmth of the sun on his skin and the feeling of soft grass under his feet, of the college experiences he would never get to have and the friends he would never see again.

He thought about the life he had been forced to give up, and tears swelled up in his eyes and fell slowly across his cheeks. He forced himself to meet Hades’s stare, refusing to wipe his weakness away.

“I have made a promise,” he started, “that I would try to save this Kingdom. I will do what is necessary.”

Hades nodded, his expression serious. “I don’t think we’ll meet again soon then,” he said, and gestured at Percy to get closer to his prone body.

Percy hesitated. “Just…” he took a deep breath, “are my friends alright? My mom? Nico?”

Hades grimaced. “I’m not your news reporter,” he said brusquely, and Percy nodded. He had expected such an answer, and the god had been kind enough that he didn’t even feel like insisting, or complaining.

He moved next to his body, complying to his earlier instructions, and gave it a last look before tearing his eyes away.

“Now don’t move. You’ll wake up disoriented,” he informed, “it’s been quite a long time after all, for your standards,” he added, and Percy panickingly looked at him, but the god shooed away his unasked question, and Percy came to peace with the fact that he would find out soon enough anyway.

“Thank you, Uncle,” he said instead, because it felt right. It felt earned, and sincere in a way that he had scarcely ever said it.

Hades flinched slightly, then nodded, and moved forwards until both of his hands were pressed on Percy’s shoulders. He could feel power radiating from them and entering him, tethering him to his body, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel fear. Hades’ power was calm, steady, sure: it was reassuring, the acceptance of a certainty that couldn’t be avoided, and Percy felt himself relax under his hands.

Their eyes met.

“They’re fine, nephew”, the god murmured, and Percy gave up on his consciousness.

This time- nothingness felt like the warm embrace of darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day late but it's here!
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this one (also because the fact that Hades is never the villain in any of the PJO books is still one of my favorites things in the series), so I hope you've also liked it!
> 
> Looking forward to hearing your thoughts on Percy's situation... were you expecting it?
> 
> Have a lovely week and thank you for reading!


	16. Year II - Part VI

When he awoke, it was late March.

His unused muscles hurt at every small movement, and the army of doctors that followed his recovery never even let him out of the infirmary for the first week after he had come back to consciousness.

Amphitrite hovered around him at every visit, at every step forward she looked like she was ready to see him shatter like glass. Percy would have gotten angry at her for it, had he not seen how worried she had been. And there was no pity in her eyes when he had to stop after just a couple of steps, just a silent determination.

Dolphin had spent the last months keeping up with the news from Atlantis and Bythus’ plans for the future, and had apparently been discussing war strategies with the Duke, a mysterious figure that Percy had yet to meet.

Even if he lived in his own Palace.

“It’s a sign of respect from him,” Amphitrite had explained, “he’s not going to meet you when you’re vulnerable and hurt. And when you’ll appear before the court…” she sighed, “you’ll have to convince them to go to war for you. You must be at your best.”

Percy had nodded in understatement, but he still didn’t like being so unsure of his position. Bythus’ still hadn’t received the approval of the throne, and thus wasn’t officially King yet, but he had been governing the kingdom unrivaled.

“He’s going to cause a famine in Southern Mexico, if he keeps up his slaughtering policy,” Dolphin explained to him in their weekly adjournment sessions, “everyone who opposes his rule in favour of you is being killed without trial.”

“Can he truly do that? Won’t the council stop it?” Percy asked. The councillors had rioted against him for the smallest thing, and it seemed incredible that they were now supporting such extreme measures.

Dolphin sighed. “Bythus has been slowly taking the power out of their hands, exploiting their rebellion against you. But you must also remember,” he paused, looking for the right words, “that they’re the ones who planned to dethrone you in his favour. Bythus had ruled for many years already, they knew of his plans and agreed to them.”

“My tutor- Lydos- he knew him well too. Did he pass on to his side?”

“I know you’ve been suspicious of him for a long time,” Amphitrite answered, “but Lydos’ only crime was to have been the Duke’s teacher when he was but a small child. He lived in the Southern court from the time Bythus’ grandfather was young, and remained there until Bythus himself became Duke.”

“Why did he leave then, after all that time?”

She sat down, pressing her knuckles to her tights. “He was forced to. His ideas were too liberal for what had become of the southern court, and he came to us for asylum. He has been teaching the children of nobles ever since, and then you when you arrived.”

“Oh,” Percy said, suddenly feeling guilty about all the times he had believed him to be a spy and all the silent accusations he had glared at him.

“He hadn’t told me,” he added, even if the excuse felt empty and useless even to his own ears.

Amphitrite shook her head, and Dolphin placed a hand on his shoulder, a comforting touch that felt unfamiliar just as much as it was needed. Percy closed his eyes- if he concentrated on it he could almost pretend to be back on Olympus, after the war, if he focused on the strong hand on his shoulder he could almost imagine his father’s strong arms around him.

But Poseidon wasn’t there. There was no given home for him in the sea, no place to be safe in if not the ones he could make for himself, no gentle current to rock him to sleep when he was too tired to do it himself.

He swallowed down the sudden urge to cry, and opened his eyes again. Dolphin took away his hand, and Amphitrite kept staring at him with her dark, delicate eyes.

“You must have heard in the last days,” she started, gracefully leaning forward, “that me and Dolphin were discussing how a permanent alliance with Duke Phaidros would… well, solve things. If we were to be allies,” she punctualized, “then there would be no questioning his help in the war we must face.”

“That’s a good thing no?” Percy asked, confused, “the duchy of the Northern Sea is the wider and most powerful there is. With his army and me fully recovered, we could truly manage to get Atlantis back.”

Hope blossomed into his chest, warm and more alluring than nectar. “How long would it take then? We sign the papers, get the armies and march to the capital and send Bythus back where he came from, all in time for summer.”

Amphitrite grimaced, and her eyes darted to Dolphin, who cleared his throat.

“Percy,” he started, “do you know how permanent alliances are forged?”

He turned back to look at him. “Well,” he started, “we make a contract, and then both parties sign it and it’s done?”

Amphitrite and Dolphin looked at each other.

“I told you it was too early,” the goddess repeated, but Dolphin disagreed. “I was right in Hallmer and I’m right now. It’s the only solution. You’ve seen how-” he gestured around.

Amphitrite closed her eyes a moment too long, and nodded.

“Marriage,” she announced, “permanent alliances are formed by marriage.”

Percy felt his heart stop beating. His ribcage was empty, cold and unflattering.

“Your marriage, in this case,” she insisted, but he could do nothing but keep staring at her, at the way her lips made words that no longer made any sense.

“Duke Phaidros has a young daughter. He has kept her safe and guarded for years but- you are King. If you convince him of the necessity of an alliance, he’ll likely offer her hand to you.”

Percy kept staring at the goddess. The room was so silent that he could feel his own blood run through his veins. Ages seemed to pass, then Percy nodded.

“I’ll think about it,” he promised, and that was it.

War was brewing, and the fumes risked to kill him before the heat could.

.

That night, when he was finally allowed to stay in an actual room and not in the infirmary, his thoughts were plagued by the idea of his imminent meeting with the Duke.

He had given up on sleeping, and was now sitting on a sturdy chair, paper and ink spread out in front of him, a trembling candle the only light in the entire room.

He had thought of marriage once. In the depths of Tartarus, where he could only believe in himself and Annabeth, he had imagined a life with her by his side. It had kept him going. It had kept him sane enough to keep on walking.

He had never even taken in consideration that he would marry a stranger though. Not even for a second, not even when he had had doubts about his and Annabeth’s relationship. Arranged marriages were a thing of the past, or so he thought.

If he was honest with himself, Percy knew that he functioned better when he wasn’t alone. All of him craved companionship, intimacy, the reassurance of having someone by his side, the silent promise that not all of his nights would be filled with dread and loneliness.

He had sacrificed everything for Atlantis. His life, his future, his personal desires. Was this truly so out of the blue as he thought it was? He had known how things worked in the sea, and Amphitrite had been telling him of his duties since day one.

He just hadn’t expected the moment to come so soon.

And even if he agreed- would Phaidros’ daughter be forced into it? Had she grown up to think of marriage as her duty, would she resent him even before their first meeting?

Would they grow to love each other?

_Dear mom,_ he scribbled down,

_I’m no longer a child but I feel I have forgotten how to take choices. Can you choose for me, mother? Can you put on a basketball show on the telly and let me complain about it?  
I’ll beg Apollo tonight, and I’ll pray to Morpheus. Please meet me in my dreams. I’m not a child any longer- but I don’t think my body knows it yet, for it only wants to be held._

_I might get married soon, mother. I wish you could be here. I wish you could see._

_I wish I could cry._

He put the pen down, staring back at his words, and placed a drachma on the letter before he could change his mind. There was no block to the letters from the surface, here in the northern duchy. Amphitrite hadn’t touched the barriers.

He was free to write, and to be written to, and it felt scary, terrifying to no longer be alone to handle everything that he was put through. He sighed, and went back to bed, thinking of his mother and praying for a happy dream he knew couldn’t be granted to him.

.

The sun rose, the morning came.

Sally didn’t.  
His mother didn’t.

His heart didn’t break as much as he thought it would.

.

Duke Phaidros met him in his study just after breakfast.

Percy had nervously picked at it, while imagining every possible scenario in his head. Would the Duke be kind? Would he be efficient, would he be short sighted and arrogant? Dolphin, who had talked to him the most, had tried to reassure him that he wasn’t anything more than Percy could handle.

Amphitrite’s eyes told a different story though. Her hands clenched when his name came up in conversations, and she had spent almost all of her time in the infirmary with him instead of attending the war meetings.

“They’re just useless chatter for now,” she had justified herself, “Percy you are the one the throne belongs to. They can talk but it’s all hypothetical: _you_ decide and Phaidros has yet to agree to an alliance. I’ll attend when you will,” she had said, and he had found nothing to say back to it.

Shuffling his feet, he took a big breath and knocked at Phaidros’ door, two short, fast beats that still remained slower than the beating of his heart.

“Enter,” a deep voice rumbled from the inside, and with one last glance at the hall he opened the heavily decorated door and stepped inside the room.

He was met with an amount of books and bookshelves that would make any child of Athena envious: they were scattered all around, in piles on the floors, on the walls and on the solid looking desk the Duke was sitting at.

The merman slightly raised his eyes and pretended to keep reading his paper, in a technique that Percy knew very well: he had used it himself against Bythus after all, and he would not fall victim to it.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” he saluted with a slight inclination of his head, courteous but not deep enough to be considered a bow.

The merman gestured at him to sit down, but didn’t say another word, and Percy took the occasion to look a bit around himself. There wasn’t much else in the room apart from the hundreds of books: the ceiling was undecorated and the walls were so dark that Percy couldn’t even say if they were blue or black.

It smelled of melted wax, and even if the light was the wrong one for a moment he felt brought back to his father’s office in Atlantis, to that room that he didn’t think he would actually ever manage to consider _his_.

Phaidros cleared his throat, and Percy’s eyes shot back to his, blue like a mountain’s stream. “I’m glad you have recovered well from your hardships,” the Duke started, and Percy tried not to show surprise at how young his voice sounded, “for you have quite a strenuous path in front of you, I won’t lie.”

“I am aware,” Percy answered, keeping his tone steady, “I’ve paid the price of Bythus’ arrogance on my person once already.”

Phaidros’ eyes shot to his neck, to that scar that had now faded into a thin, white line.

“This is why,” Percy continued, “I believe that an alliance between us would be the fastest resolution to this war. You have the armies, but you need a cause. Bythus is showing his true colours, and his tyranny is slowly taking place.”

He paused for a second, measuring Phaidros’ reaction. “His way of ruling is killing thousands of his own subjects, not counting the villages he has destroyed just to increase the profit of the lands. And this is only the start: he desires absolute power and I don’t think we have much longer till he makes a move for the other duchies.”

“You are convinced about this?” the Duke asked, “My deals are going well, my people are prospering. A war…” he paused, “I’m not in need of one.”

“You are far from the capitol now, and far from the Southern Duchy. But Bythus is already allied with the Mediterrean Duchy, the third biggest one after yours and his, and the Duke of the Coral Sea will not hesitate long in officially passing on his side.”

He leaned back on his chair. “The Caribbeans have passed laws similar to Bythus’ policies only a few years ago. The Duke of the Japanese Sea has been ignoring the Crown’s directives on imprisonment since I’ve been King, and in the Black Sea there have been insurrections and destructions of royal property for the last months.”

“It’s coming up North, Phaidros,” he concluded, “Hallmer was literally a step out of your door, and yet they poured poison inside the filters without a second thought. Your name won’t keep them settled for long.”

The Duke remained silent for a while, moving some papers around while he thought. “And yet these are all previsions, the ones you make. His only real alliance is not even a permanent one, and his power is not solid enough for the other dukes to risk so much with so little assurance.”

“Little assurance?” Percy pressed, “Bythus holds Atlantis, holds Poseidon’s riches and belongings, holds more than four thousand years of history and records in his hands. Do you really trust the other dukes not to fall victim to such promises?”

Phaidros opened his mouth to answer, but Percy didn’t let him.

“And not only that,” he pressed on, “there are unresolved matters, ugly skeletons in the closet of every Duchy. Even if they don’t entirely agree with Bythus’ ideas, he has enough material to blackmail them into signing an alliance. You know him. Do you think he is above all this?”

Phaidros’ hands clenched. “You say the other duchies are on his side. Why should I join you then? Why should I not give you to him and take my prize?”

Percy swallowed harshly. He had feared this question.

“Under your rule and the one of your father and of his father before him,” he slowly started, “the Northern Duchy has been the symbol of enlightenment, of new ideas, of prestigious academies and source of the greatest intellectuals of the last centuries.”

He looked into his young eyes. “Would you turn your back to this legacy? Would you be willing to bend your knee to despoty and cruelty, just for riches and gold?”

Phaidros shook his head, a new determination in his expression. a fire in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “My people are prideful and arrogant at traits. They won’t bow to tyranny, but they won’t bow to a stranger either.”

“I have been here almost an year,” Percy interjected, and instantly regretted it. A year against the width of lives in the sea was nothing, a blink of an eye for most, but Phaidros didn’t call him out on it.

“There are still many duchies who have not taken a side yet, and some who would be on our side for certain, if we could convince them we have a chance of actually winning this war,” he passionately went on.

“Between me, your armies and _their_ armies…” Percy started, but Phaidros interrupted him.

“Our alliance must be a certainty they can rely upon,” he solemnly stated, standing from his chair and looking at him from above, “Perseus, King of Atlantis, Emperor of the Oceans, accept the hand of my daughter and seal the permanent alliance between our forces, against the tyranny of the Southern Duke.”

Percy rose up from his chair too, its legs making a striding sound on the rich marble floor. He felt his heart beat so fast that it seemed on the verge of explosion, while adrenaline run through his veins, together with fear and the thrill of success- he had convinced the Duke to go to war with him. _For_ him.

“I accept,” he firmly pronounced, and with those two words he forever changed the course of his life, the shape of Atlantis’ whole future.

Millennia, millions of lives. Their destiny had rested on a choice that Percy had thought he would find impossible to make. And yet here he was-

-saying yes and getting married to a stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late chapter! I'm in med school and exams got in the way.
> 
> Were you expecting this development? They were hinting at it for a while... and now Percy is getting married soon! I'm excited about writing about it but I hope I'll manage to keep his character intact.
> 
> Let me know what you think and thank you to all the ones who give kudos, bookmark and comment! Reading your words brightens my days <3 <3


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some chapter four explanation will make a comeback!

“There is no _other_ way,” Amphitrite repeated, pacing in front of Percy’s bed and staring at the boy sitting cross-legged above it.

“You have agreed to the marriage, you have made a deal with Duke Phaidros. You have already started on the war plans, the armies are already being trained to listen to you. There is no going back.”

“But I thought I would at least get to meet her first! Not that I would just go blind into-”

“What does it matter?” Amphitrite pressed on, “even if you met her and didn’t aesthetically find her pleasing it’s not like you could have broken up the engagement for that, not without compromising our already delicate-”

“That’s not what I meant,” Percy murmured, feeling self-conscious about his insecurity, about his need for reassurement, “just let it go,” he went on, but it only managed to make Amphitrite more curious.

She inclined her head, studying him with an unreadable expression and such an intensity that Percy was forced to take his eyes away.

“You’re afraid she won’t like you,” the goddess suddenly said, her voice filled with disbelief. “You would have broken it off if she hadn’t… been okay with it.”

Percy blushed, and tightened his shoulders, heavy under Amphitrite’s attentive eyes. “Duke Phaidros said he had a young daughter. I don’t know how… how _young_ she truly is. If she’s a child obviously the whole thing is going to-”

Amphitrite snorted, and Percy stopped, looking at her questioningly. “Lives are long in the ocean, Perseus,” she softly stated, “she’s young for our standards, but you’re even younger. She’s probably a decade older than you.”

“Oh” Percy answered, blushing even more, an Amphitrite placed a hand on his chin, caressing him gently.

“I would not have led you towards an inappropriate match,” she explained, “and I would have not even proposed this one to you if I thought you would have been unable to find a modicum of contentment in it.”

“So it wasn’t the only solution?”

She sighed. “It was if we wanted the Northern Duchy on our side, or any kind of allies at this point. But maybe in a few decades we would have managed to win the war by ourselves.”

“We didn’t have decades though,” Percy accepted, “and we didn’t have any more risks to take.”

“You are ready for this, Percy,” she encouraged, “it won’t change that much in your daily life at first, and you’ll get used to each other in time. Companionship will do you good, and Phaidros couldn’t have gotten a better match for her daughter.”

Percy chuckled, shaking his head. “Must have been desperate, if a demigod raised on land was the better thing he could find.”

“A King with Poseidon’s blood in his veins,” she insisted, “whether you wish it or not, legacies and titles mean everything here. And the fact that he’s giving you his last daughter… it means that the Duke is certain Bythus won’t last long.”

“So we could go back to Atlantis.”

“And the rest of my family maybe would be able to come back.”

The rest of.

The rest of.

Percy smiled stupidly about it for the rest of the day.

.

_Percy, my dear son_

the letter recited,

_I can’t begin to imagine how difficult all of this has been for you. I have prayed to whichever god would listen to have news of you, and all have returned empty handed. I miss you like a limb that’s been cut off. We didn’t deserve this darling. You didn’t._

_Percy my baby, you know what the right choice is. You always do, you always did. I’m old and grey, and there is nothing new I can teach you. Just remember that I love you, that I always carry you in my heart and in my thoughts and wherever you may fit._

_But it’s not your fault. Don’t ever think that. I carry you in my mind as a smiling half-toothed toddler, as an adventurous child, as my good hearted son. We’ll see each other again, and it will be like no time has passed at all._

_You were always of the sea, darling. I knew that when I loved your father, I knew that from when I first held you._

_Just remember to breathe, every now and then._

_With immeasurable love,_

_Your mom_

Percy read the letter again and again, tracing the words with his finger. She had answered. Finally, after almost a year, he had managed to have something from his mother.

He felt like crying, but good tears this time. Tears of relief, of release, of acceptance. She loved him. She loved him still, she forgave him of the pain he had caused. Better, she had refused to blame him, she had taken her suffering and had carved love out of it with trembling fingers and an aching heart.

He could do the same. How many times had his mother fallen and then got back up again? How many times had she been hurt, had she felt like she wasn’t enough, in an abusive marriage and with a special needs child, how many times had she cried?

And yet. And yet- she stood proud. Safe, unbroken. He could find the strength in her, when he felt like he had none more. He could, he could.

A silly river hadn’t washed away her blessing.

.

“Percy,” Amphitrite called, shaking him awake, “you must come, we have troubling news from Atlantis.”

“What?” Percy groggily asked, his mother’s letter still crushed in his fist, “Atlantis?”

“Phaidros is waiting for us in the council room. Come on, hurry up,” she pressed, drawing back all the curtains and dragging Percy to his feet.

“One of Dolphin’s spies is here,” the goddess murmured while they quickly swam to the Duke, surrounded by half a dozen guards, “he says he has important news but that will only speak in your presence.”

“Could it be a trick?” Percy asked, “just to know if I’m really here, and alive?”

“He has nothing on him to send messages, and he has been stripped of all his weapons. But your point stands. He will not be returning to Bythus.”

“How will-” Percy started, but Amphitrite just glared at him.

“It’s war,” she stated, “we won’t take risks. Here we’ve arrived,” she changed the topic, and Percy let her lead him into the imponent room.

The Duke and his advisors were standing in front of a giant, rectangular table with a map of all the realm drawn on it as a beautifully intricate mosaic, but Percy knew it wasn’t the right time to comment on it.

They reached Dolphin, who was standing in front of the man who had once been his faithful soldier and who now maybe still was, or maybe not: they couldn’t know. They could never truly know, and the uncertainty swam bitterly in Percy’s stomach. What if he was innocent?

“The King stands in front of you,” Duke Phaidros started, and Percy flinched at the use of the name, “now bow and talk.”

The dolphin did, a sour expression on his face that could have been tiredness or something much more dangerous. _Don’t get paranoid,_ Percy reminded himself, but it sounded impossible when he felt the world against him.

“Your Majesty,” the man started, voice trembling, “after months of careful work, Duke Bythus finally considered me as his loyal subject, and I was able to enter the throne room-”

“Was the entrance unallowed before?” one of Phaidros’ advisors rumbled with a deep voice.

“Only his men were allowed in,” the dolphin waveringly answered, “the official reason was that Bythus was going forward with the third task, and wanted no interruptance, nor to risk being somehow sabotaged.”

Amphitrite snorted. “The throne is sculpted with complex magic,” she scoffed, “it can’t be _sabotaged.”_

“You said official reason,” Dolphin went on, “what was the real one then?”

The man swallowed audibly. “The Emblems, your Majesty,” he answered turning his head to Percy, “there is a new one.”

Percy’s throat dried up, and he looked panickingly at Amphitrite, not caring about seeming lost. “Another?” she answered, “apart from the dents from my family’s… departure?”

“Yes, my lady,” he repeated, “I believe it’s the reason Bythus has still not managed to get the throne’s approval.”

“What you believe is irrelevant,” Phaidros thundered, while Percy thought back on Amphitrite’s explanation of the Emblems. _They follow negative ordeals,_ she had said, _ones that have a big impact on our Kingdom, so that we may do better in the future._

“What is it then?” he asked, forcing his voice to be level, “what is so noticeable to have upset you in such a manner?”

And the unasked question, that could be read in everyone’s eyes. What has happened so horrible, what nightmare will we have to face?

The dolphin hesisted, raising his eyes and then lowering them again. The tension was palpable in the crowded room, the mermen breaths the only noise that could be heard.

Percy’s heart beated like it was its last chance.

“Your blood, my Lord,” the dolphin finally answered, staring right into his eyes “your blood has been impossible to remove from the marble.”

Silence reigned in the room.

“My...blood?” Percy asked, incredulous, after a beat “how is that possible?”

“Percy if your-” Amphitrite started, but then she stopped and looked at the Duke in a silent request.

“Council dismissed,” the merman ordered, “take the spy away. We’ll adjourn on the morrow. Dolphin, make sure your man has nothing else to say.”

He nodded, glancing at Amphitrite to see if she was going to ask him to remain there instead, but she refused to even look at him, and as soon as they were the only three in the room, Percy slumped unceremoniously on one of the soft chairs.

“Is that so truly bad?” he asked, “if it had stopped Bythus from getting the throne then-”

“-then it could also stop Poseidon from doing so, once he returns,” Amphitrite continued, pacing in front of the desk, “at least as long as you live.”

Phaidros stared at him, an indecipherable expression behind his eyes, “Could he even?” he casually asked, “if his blood, the symbol of his mortality, is tied to something as powerful and magical-”

“I can die,” Percy interrupted, still in shock, “Hades said so. I can-”

“Hades?” Amphitrite turned instantly, “when did you speak to him?”

Percy shook his head. “After Hallmer. He told me I could choose to die or to live, but that I would only remain alive as long as I was at the center of my power, and that I still could be killed. So I can die,” he concluded, “the blood was already on the throne when we spoke.”

Amphitrite stared at him, her mouth slightly open in surprise, but Phaidros didn’t seem shaken by the news. “Well that’s a problem in less,” he commented, “and could also be a good thing. We all wish for your husband to come back soon of course,” he reassured the goddess, “but in the meantime, if Perseus is literally tied to the throne, then more people will be convinced of the weight of his claim to the Kingdom.”

Amphitrite nodded, taking her eyes away from him. “Let’s just think about getting Atlantis back,” she sighed, “we’ll handle the other problems in due time. We can’t do anything about the throne’s Emblems right now.”

“It’s good to know, though,” Percy said, catching their attention, “that the throne hasn’t forgotten me. I would have gotten offended, after all my conversations with it,” he joked, trying to ease the situation.

Amphitrite chuckled, and some of the tension melted away from the room. Percy smiled back at her, and the Duke shook his head in fake exasperation.

“A shame I wasn’t there,” he answered, picking some papers up, “I was told you happily and joyfully participated in all the afternoon activities.”

The goddess snorted, and Percy looked at her with a betrayed expression. “You must know, Duke Phaidros,“ he started, “that as Amphitrite can confirm from the many conversations we have had about the topic, that there is nothing I love more than diplomatic encounters.”

“And dancing,” she added, “he loves that too.”

The Duke smiled. “Leave us please, your Majesty. Me and Lady Amphitrite have nuptials to plan.”

“Can’t I stay for that?” Percy asked. He hadn’t understood whether the Duke and Amphitrite had been teasing him or if they’d been serious about the activities thing. So much time away from Camp had apparently taken away his ability to get sarcasm.

“You will know soon enough anyway,” the goddess answered, and he was left with nothing else to do but leave.

He felt light, thought, lighter than he had in ages, with a small smile that risked to escape from his lips. Maybe good things were coming. Maybe it was the right time for… contentment, at least.

.

Another tailor came to him in the afternoon.

“We’re not going to sew anything as complicated as what you were wearing for your Coronation,” the mermaid started, “we really don’t have the time for anything too elaborate.”

“It’s alright,” Percy answered when she stared at him expecting an answer, “I’m not a fan of heavy decoration”

“Mh,” she murmured, “raise your hands above your head and stare in front of you”

Percy wondered whether it was truly necessary. Were all clothes handmade there? He would have gladly worn something just ready to be put on without all this fuss.

“What colour will it be?” Percy asked, curious about undersea wedding traditions. Amphitrite had told him barely anything, and he could only vaguely remember to have covered the topic in his studies.

The tailor raised her eyebrows, and stared down at him. “You are a King,” she slowly drew out, “what colour would you wear if not gold?”

Percy nodded, pretending it had been obvious. “Of course,” he answered, “and what about the bride?”

The tailor stopped again, and sighed. “The bride will wear the colours of the family she marries into. In this case, the Royal House.”

“So gold too?”

“Of course not,” the tailor answered, almost flinching in disgust, “that would be horrible luck.”

Percy had no idea what she was talking about. He nodded, and the session progressed in complete silence.

He almost missed Atlantis’ chatty tailor, with her coral red ruler and her constant awe of everything golden and shiny. He wondered if she had passed on Bythus’ side, or if she had remained loyal to him. Had she been between the murdered, had she managed to escape the Palace, was she still in hiding?

Not for the first time, he wished he had never left the Palace.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. “We’re not finished yet!” the tailor yelled, still turning around him taking notes, “legs are just so weird,” she commented under her breath.

The door opened anyway, and one of Phaidros’ senior servants came into the room, dressed in ceremonial clothes.

“Duke Phaidros and Lady Amphitrite are pleased to announce that they have come to an agreement about the marriage arrangements.”

“Oh lovely,” the tailor commented, “will they expect a miracle or I’ll have time to finish all of this?” she asked, gesturing to her fabrics.

The servant smiled. “The wedding will take place tomorrow afternoon,” he announced, “after having followed the traditional customs of the morning.”

“Tomorrow?” Percy asked with a high pitched voice, then cleared his throat. “Isn’t it a bit soon?”

“The sooner you get an heir the better it is,” the tailor brusquely answered, “now hurry up, turn around that this needs to be ready by midday.”

“Not by the morning?” he asked, perplexed. The servant had said something about morning things, hadn’t he?

“These are the wedding clothes,” she answered, dumbfounded, looking at him as if he had grown a third head.

Percy stared at her in silence. “What about the others?” he asked.

She raised her eyebrows. “I’m not making clothes for all the guests?” she answered, posing it like a question.

“No, I meant-” Percy started, but she looked so weirded out that he just gave up.

He would find out soon enough anyway.

.

_A storm was coming._

_The sky, impossibly dark, trembled in restraint under Percy’s eyes, while the waves raised to meet it, untamable and unchecked._

_Percy shivered in the cold air, feeling the raw power of the two gods dancing all around him._

_He walked towards the sea, placing both of his feet in the water. “Dad?” he called, but no one answered. He moved forwards again._

_The waves were singing, and Percy wanted to see the jellyfishes again. He was waist-deep into the raging water now, and he could feel the cold settle into his bones._

_What the sea takes, it keeps._

_Hands grabbed at his ankles and Percy went down, down-_

_-down._

_The sun shined brightly on the grass. Percy was smiling up at Grover, eating an apple around a missing tooth._

_“We are tied you know,” he was saying, “you and me, and then you and everything else”_

_“Everything else?” Percy asked, while the sun kept getting brighter and brighter._

_Grover nodded. “Doesn’t it call you?”_

_Percy was on the throne of Atlantis, blood red and grotesque, dead bodies all amassed on the floor around him. Had the war been fought?_

_There was a woman in front of him, her hands golden._

_“This mustn’t happen,” her voice echoed in the room, “this can’t be.”_

_Amphitrite was laying next to him, her skin grey and her eyes too white. His own dead body was beside her, a sword deep into his chest._

_Percy shut his eyes in disgust._

_“Where does it go wrong?” he asked the golden woman._

_“Soon,” she answered, and the dream faded into nothingness._

.

A knock at the door, a servant coming with breakfast and clothes. The longest day of his life would start as soon as he felt brave enough to open his eyes, and he was going to let the moment drag as much as he could.

He remembered flashes of a nightmare. Had he screamed?

The servant moved out and about inside the room, silent and respectful as Flustra had never been. He thought back at the smell of his skin, the warmth of his hands all over him, and missed the boy terribly, even if there was a chance he was a traitor now.

The bed’s curtains were drawn open. “Good morning, Your Majesty,” the servant chirped, “ready for your wedding day?”

Percy groaned into the pillow, the image of his own decaying body suddenly impressed behind his eyelids.

He shuddered, and hoped marrying had been the right choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> A couple of days late but I made it! Hope you've been enjoying how things are developing... I'm really excited about writing next chapter, and as always let me know what you think <3  
> Have a lovely week!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Let me know what you think and see you in two weeks time...


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